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THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHORS 

LORD  LOVELAND  DISCOVERS  AMERICA 

ROSEMARY  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  FATHER 

LADY  BETTY  ACROSS  THE  WATER 

MY  FRIEND  THE  CHAUFFEUR 

THE  LIGHTNING  CONDUCTOR 

THE  GUESTS  op  HERCULES 

THE  PRINCESS  VIRGINIA 

THE   G  OLDEN    SILENCE 

THE  CAR  OF  DESTINY 

THE  MOTOR  MAID 

THE  CHAPERON 

SET  IN  SILVER 

THE  HEATHER  MOON 


"  Nick  thought  her  adorable  in  her  gray  motor  bonnet 


e  lort  OT  Adventure 

£y  C.N.  tf  AM.  Williams  on 

Authors  of 
Set  in  Silver  "The  Gu«tt  of  Hercules"  Etc.. 


Garden  City,  New  York 
DOUBLEDAY.PAGE  tf  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1913,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 

COPYRIGHT,  igiO,  igll,  BY  JAS.  HORSBURGH,  JR. 


TO 
THREE     FRIENDS     IN     CALIFORNIA 


2228349 


CONTENTS 


I.  IN  A  GARDEN 3 

II.  NICK               12 

III.  THE  ANNIVERSARY 25 

IV.  A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING        ....  30 
V.  WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  NIGHT      .       .  50 

VI.  WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED  .       .  59 
VII.  A  POLICE  MYSTERY     .               ...  78 
VIII.  THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY    ....  88 
IX.  THE  LAST  ACT  OF  THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  105 
X.  WHEN  ANGELA  WENT  SIGHTSEEING        .  114 
XI.  THE  MAN  AT  THE  WTHEEL.        .       .       .  124 
XII.  THE    BEAUTIFUL    COUNTRY    OF    MAKE- 
BELIEVE      134 

XIII.  FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  DRAMATIC  EFFECT     .  165 

XIV.  THE  MYSTERY  OF  SAN  MIGUEL       .        .  178 
XV.  THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK         .       .  188 

XVI.  ANGELA  AT  HER  WORST     ....  203 

XVII.  SEVENTEEN-MILE  DRIVE      .       .       .       .212 

XVIII.  LA  DONNA  E  MOBILE 218 

XIX.  THE  CITY  OF  ROMANCE  .       .       .227 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  DOOR  WITH  THE  RED  LABEL       .  241 
"WHO  Is  MRS.  MAY?"   .       .       .       .249 

THE  Box  OF  MYSTERY    ....  260 

THE  HAPPY  VALLEY 271 

THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE    .       .  288 

THE  BROKEN  MELODY     ....  305 

AN  INVITATION  FROM  CARMEN      .       .  317 

SIMEON  HARP 328 

THE  DARK  CLOUD  IN  THE  CRYSTAL    .  335 

THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS  .       .       .  344 

THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN    .       .  356 

THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL       .       .  377 

AN  END  —  AND  A  BEGINNING  397 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Nick  thought  her  adorable  in  her  gray 

motor  bonnet "         .        .        .        .        Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

"Santa    Barbara    Mission,  with  its  history  and 

romance " 170 

"Angela   was   enchanted  with  the  peninsula  of 

Monterey" 214 

"  They  weren't  trees,  but  people,  either  nymphs 

or  witches       .......       216 

"  The  world  was  a  sea,  billowing  with  mountains  "       296 


IX 


i 


THE   PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 


PROLOGUE 

ON  a  great  ship  a  woman  sailed  away  from  the  Old 
World,  wishing  to  forget.  In  her  mind  was  the  thought 
of  a  far-off  place  toward  which  she  was  travelling.  There 
were  no  figures  in  this  mental  picture.  She  painted  it  as 
a  mere  flowery  background;  for  she  was  very  tired  of 
people. 

In  the  New  World,  a  man  lived  and  worked,  and 
dreamed  —  when  he  had  time. 

Between  this  woman  and  this  man  lay  six  thousand 
miles  of  land  and  sea.  They  were  two,  among  many 
millions,  and  they  did  not  know  of  each  other's  existence. 
There  was  no  visible  reason  why  they  ever  should  know, 
or  why  they  should  ever  meet.  Yet,  sometimes  when  the 
moon  shone  on  the  sea,  the  woman  said  to  herself  that  the 
bright  path  paving  the  water  with  gold  seemed  to  lead  on 
and  on  beyond  the  horizon,  as  if  it  might  go  all  the  way 
to  the  Golden  Gate.  And  the  Golden  Gate  is  the  Port 
of  Adventure,  where  every  unexpected  thing  can  happen. 


IN  A  GARDEN 

"I  WONDER  what  makes  Nick  so  late?"  Carmen 
Gaylor  thought,  hovering  in  the  doorway  between  the 
dim,  cool  hall  and  the  huge  veranda  that  was  like  an 
out-of-doors  drawing-room. 

Though  she  spoke  English  well  —  almost  as  well  as  if 
she  had  not  been  born  in  Spain  and  made  her  greatest 
successes  in  the  City  of  Mexico  —  Carmen  thought  in 
Spanish,  for  her  heart  was  Spanish,  and  her  beauty  too. 

She  was  always  handsome,  but  she  was  beautiful  as  she 
came  out  into  the  sunset  gold  which  seemed  meant  for 
her,  as  stage  lights  are  turned  on  for  the  heroine  of  a 
play;  and  there  was  something  about  Carmen  which 
suggested  strong  drama.  Even  the  setting  in  which 
she  framed  herself  was  like  an  ideal  scene  for  a  first  act. 

The  house  was  not  very  old,  and  not  really  Spanish, 
but  it  had  been  designed  by  an  architect  who  knew  Car- 
men, with  the  purpose  of  giving  a  Spanish  effect.  He 
had  known  exactly  the  sort  of  background  to  suit  her, 
a  background  as  expensive  as  picturesque;  a  million- 
aire husband  had  paid  for  it.  There  were  many  verandas 
and  pergolas,  but  this  immense  out-of-doors  room  had 
wide  archways  instead  of  pillars,  curtained  with  white 
and  purple  passion  flowers;  and  the  creamy  stucco  of 

3 


4  THE   PORT   OF   ADVENTURE 

the  house-wall,  and  the  ruddy  Spanish  tiles,  which 
already  looked  mellow  with  age,  were  half  hidden  with 
climbing  roses  and  grapevines. 

Three  shallow  steps  of  pansy-coloured  bricks  went 
all  the  length  of  the  gallery,  descending  to  a  terrace 
floored  with  the  same  brick,  which  held  dim  tints  of 
purple,  old  rose,  gray  and  yellow,  almost  like  a  faded 
Persian  rug. 

When  Carmen  had  looked  past  the  fountain  across 
the  lawn,  down  the  path  cut  between  pink  oleanders, 
where  the  man  she  expected  ought  to  appear,  she  trailed 
her  white  dress  over  terrace  and  grass  to  peer  under 
the  green  roof  of  the  bamboo  forest.  It  was  like  a 
temple  with  tall  pillars  of  priceless  jade  that  supported  a 
roof  of  the  same  gray-green,  starred  in  a  vague  pattern 
with  the  jewels  of  sunset.  Carmen  did  not  see  the  beauty 
of  the  magic  temple,  though  she  was  conscious  of  her  own. 
She  hated  to  think  that  Nick  Billiard  should  keep  her 
waiting,  and  there  was  cruelty  in  the  clutch  she  made 
at  a  cluster  of  orange  blossoms  as  she  passed  a  long  row 
of  trees  in  terra-cotta  pots  on  the  terrace.  Under  the 
bamboos  she  scattered  a  handful  of  creamy  petals  on 
the  golden  brown  earth,  and  rubbed  them  into  the  ground 
with  the  point  of  her  bronze  shoe.  Then  she  held  up  her 
hand  to  her  face,  to  smell  the  sweetness  crushed  out  of 
the  blossoms. 

Why  didn't  Nick  come? 

There  was  a  short  cut  leading  from  the  land  which 
she  had  selected  off  her  own  immense  ranch  to  sell  to  Nick 
Hilliard,  and  this  way  he  sometimes  took  if  he  were  in  a 
hurry.  But  she  knew  that  he  loved  the  path  between  the 


IN   A   GARDEN  5 

pink  walls  of  oleander,  and  preferred  to  come  by  it,  though 
it  was  longer.  He  ought  to  have  been  with  her  at  least 
ten  minutes  ago,  for  she  had  asked  him  to  come  early. 
She  had  said  in  the  letter  which  she  gave  old  Simeon  Harp 
to  take  to  Nick,  "This  is  your  last  night.  There  are  a 
great,  great  many  things  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about." 
But  there  was  only  one  thing  about  which  she  wished 
Nick  Hilliard  to  talk  to  her,  and  there  were  two  reasons 
why  she  expected  him  to  talk  of  it  to-night. 

One  reason  was,  because  he  was  going  East,  and  planned 
to  be  gone  a  month,  a  dreadful  plan  which  she  feared  and 
detested.  The  second  reason  concerned  the  anniversary 
of  a  certain  event.  Some  people  would  have  called  the 
event  a  tragedy,  but  to  Carmen  it  had  made  life  worth 
living.  Other  people's  tragedies  were  shadowy  affairs  to 
her,  if  she  had  not  to  suffer  from  them. 

It  was  one  of  her  pleasures  to  dress  beautifully,  in  a 
style  that  might  have  seemed  exaggerated  on  a  different 
type  of  woman,  and  would  have  been  extravagant  for  any 
except  the  mistress  of  a  fortune.  But  never  had  Carmen 
taken  more  pains  than  to-night,  when  she  expected  only 
one  guest.  Her  white  chiffon  and  silver  tissue  might  have 
been  a  wedding  gown.  She  adored  jewellery,  and  had 
been  almost  a  slave  to  her  love  for  it,  until  she  began  to 
value  something  else  more  —  something  which,  unfort- 
unately, her  money  could  not  buy,  though  she  hoped 
and  prayed  her  face  might  win  it.  She  had  quantities  of 
diamonds,  emeralds,  and  rubies  —  her  favourite  stones  — 
but  instinct  had  told  her  that  even  one  would  spoil  the 
effect  she  wished  to  make  to-night.  She  wore  only  a  long 
rope  of  pearls,  which  would  have  suited  a  bride;  and  as 


6  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

she  stood  in  the  shadow  of  her  bamboo  temple,  the  pearls 
drank  iridescent  lights:  green  from  the  jade-coloured 
trees,  pink  from  roses  trailing  over  arbours,  and  gold 
from  the  California  poppies  thick  among  the  grass. 

Of  course,  any  one  of  many  reasonable  things  might 
have  happened  to  delay  Nick.  He  was  busy,  busier  even 
than  when  he  had  been  foreman  of  the  Gaylor  ranch  a 
year  ago,  but  Carmen  could  not  bear  to  think  that  he 
would  let  mere  reasonable  things  keep  him  away  from 
her,  just  this  night  of  all  others.  For  exactly  a  year  —  a 
year  to-day,  a  year  this  morning,  so  it  was  already  more 
than  a  year  —  she  had  ceased  to  be  a  slave,  and  she  had 
had  everything  she  wanted,  except  one  thing.  Perhaps 
she  had  that  too,  yet  she  was  not  sure:  and  she  could 
hardly  wait  to  be  sure.  Nobody  but  Nick  could  make 
her  so,  and  he  ought  to  be  in  joyful  haste  to  do  it.  He 
was  not  cold  blooded.  One  could  not  look  at  Nick  and 
think  him  that,  yet  to  her  he  sometimes  seemed  indiffer- 
ent. Carmen  made  herself  believe  that  it  was  his  re- 
spect which  held  him  back.  How  desperately  she 
wanted  to  know!  Yet  there  was  a  strange  pleasure  in 
not  knowing,  such  as  she  might  never  feel  again,  when 
she  was  sure. 

Suddenly,  far  off,  there  was  a  rustling  in  the  bamboo 
forest.  A  figure  like  a  shadow,  but  darker  than  other 
shadows,  moved  in  the  distance.  Carmen's  heart  jumped. 
She  took  a  step  forward,  then  stopped.  It  was  not  Nick 
Hilliard  after  all,  but  old  Simeon  Harp,  the  squirrel 
poisoner,  coming  from  the  direction  of  Nick's  ranch, 
bringing  her  a  message,  maybe.  She  felt  she  could  not 
possibly  bear  it  if  Nick  were  not  coming,  and  she  hated 


IN  A  GARDEN  7 

him  at  the  bare  thought  that  he  might  send  an  excuse  at 
the  last  moment. 

"What  is  it,  Sim?"  she  called  out  sharply,  as  the 
queer,  gnarled  figure  of  the  old  man  hobbled  nearer. 

"Nothing,  my  lady,"  Simeon  Harp  answered  in  the 
husky  voice  of  one  who  is  or  has  been  a  drunkard.  "  Noth- 
ing, only  I  was  over  at  Nick's  finishin'  up  a  bit  of  my  work, 
and  he  said,  would  I  tell  you  he  was  sorry  to  be  late.  He's 
had  somebody  with  him  all  afternoon,  and  no  time  to  pack 
till  just  now.  But  he'll  be  along  presently." 

Harp  was  an  Englishman,  with  some  fading  signs  about 
him  of  decent  birth,  decent  education  and  upbringing, 
but  such  signs  were  blurred  and  almost  obliterated  by 
the  habits  which  had  degraded  him.  He  would  have  been 
dead  or  in  prison  or  the  poorhouse  years  ago  if  Carmen 
had  not  chosen  to  rescue  him,  more  through  a  whim  than 
from  genuine  charity.  Her  mother's  people  had  been 
English,  and  somehow  she  had  not  cared  to  see  an  English- 
man thrown  to  the  dogs  in  this  country  which  was  not  hers 
nor  his.  In  days  when  her  word  was  law  for  the  infatuated 
and  brutal  man  whose  death  anniversary  it  now  was,  this 
bit  of  human  driftwood  —  failure,  drunkard,  rascal  —  had 
been  found  trespassing  on  the  ranch.  If  Carmen  had  not 
chosen  to  show  her  power  over  old  "Grizzly  Gaylor"  by 
protecting  the  poor  wretch,  Harp  would  have  met  the 
fate  he  probably  deserved.  But  she  had  amused  herself, 
and  saved  him.  Sick  and  forlorn,  he  had  been  nursed  back 
to  something  like  health  in  the  house  of  one  among  many 
gardeners.  Since  then  he  had  been  her  slave,  her  dog. 
He  called  her  "my  lady,"  and  she  rather  liked  the  name. 
She  liked  the  worshipping  admiration  in  the  red-lidded 


8  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

eyes  which  had  once  been  handsome,  and  she  believed, 
what  he  often  said,  that  there  was  nothing  on  earth  he 
wouldn't  do  for  her.  Once  or  twice  the  thought  had 
pierced  her  brain  like  a  sharp  needle,  that  perhaps  he  had 
already  done  a  thing  for  her  —  a  great  thing.  But  it  was 
better  not  to  know,  not  even  to  guess.  Fortunately  the 
idea  had  apparently  never  occurred  to  any  one  else,  and  of 
course  it  never  could  now.  Yet  there  had  been  a  very 

curious  look  in  Simeon  Harp's  eyes  a  year  ago  when 

.  .  .  Not  that  it  proved  anything.  There  was  always  a 
more  or  less  curious  look  in  his  eyes.  He  was  altogether  a 
curious  person,  perhaps  a  little  mad,  or,  at  any  rate,  vague. 
Especially  was  he  vague  about  his  reasons  for  leaving  his 
native  land  to  emigrate  to  America.  He  said  it  was  so 
long  ago,  and  he  had  gone  through  so  much,  that  he  had 
forgotten.  There  are  some  things  it  is  as  well  to  forget. 
Since  Carmen  had  known  him,  Simeon  Harp  had  tried  his 
luck  as  a  water  diviner,  but  failing,  sometimes  when  he 
most  wished  to  succeed,  in  that  profession,  he  had  now 
definitely  settled  down  as  squirrel  poisoner  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood. Those  pests  to  farmers  and  ranchmen,  ground 
squirrels,  had  given  the  strange  old  man  a  chance  to  build 
up  a  reputation  of  a  sort.  As  a  squirrel  poisoner  he  was  a 
brilliant  success. 

"Who  gave  you  permission  to  call  Mr.  Hilliard 
'Nick'?"  Carmen  asked,  not  very  sternly,  for  she  was 
pleased  to  have  news  from  the  other  ranch.  After  all,  if 
Nick  had  had  a  visitor  he  might  not  be  to  blame. 

"Why,  everybody  calls  him  'Nick',"  explained  Simeon, 
huskily.  "But  I  won't,  if  it  isn't  your  will,  my  lady." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care,  if  he  doesn't.     Only-      "  she  broke 


IN  A  GARDEN  9 

off,  slightly  confused.  Even  to  this  old  wretch  she  could 
not  say,  "  It  isn't  suitable  that  you  should  use  my  future 
husband's  Christian  name  as  if  he  were  down  on  the 
same  level  with  a  man  like  you."  She  could  not  be  sure 
that  Nick  would  be  her  husband,  though  it  seemed  practi- 
cally certain.  Besides,  if  Hilliard  was  "Nick"  to  every- 
body, it  was  a  token  of  his  popularity;  and  Nick  himself 
was  the  last  man  to  forget  that  he  had  risen  to  his  present 
place  by  climbing  up  from  the  lowest  rung  of  the  ladder  — 
the  ladder  of  poverty.  She  could  not  imagine  his  "putting 
on  airs,"  as  he  would  call  it,  though  she  thought  it  might 
be  better  if  he  were  less  of  the  "hail-fellow-well-met," 
and  more  of  the  master  in  manner  among  his  own  cattle- 
men, and  particularly  with  the  wild  riff-raff  that  had 
rushed  to  his  land  with  the  oil  boom. 

"Who  was  with  him  —  some  man,  I  suppose?"  she 
asked  of  the  squirrel  poisoner,  who  stood  quietly  adoring 
her  with  eyes  dimmed  by  drink  and  years.  He  had  so 
settled  down  on  his  rheumatic  old  joints  that  he  had 
become  dwarfish  in  stature  as  well  as  gnarled  in  shape, 
and  looked  a  gnomelike  thing,  gazing  up  at  the  tall  young 
woman. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was  a  man,  of  course,"  Simeon  assured 
her.  "There  couldn't  be  any  women  for  him  who  knows 
you,  it  seems  to  me,  my  lady.  And  you  were  never  as 
handsome  as  you  are  this  night.  It  warms  the  heart  to 
set  eyes  on  you,  like  the  wine  you  give  me  on  your  birth- 
days, to  drink  your  health. 

Carmen  was  pleased  with  praise,  even  a  squirrel 
poisoner's  praise.  She  could  never  have  too  much. 

"You  needn't  wait  for  my  birthday,"  she  laughed.     "I 


10  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

don't  mean  to  have  another  for  a  good  long  time,  Sim! 
You  can  have  some  of  that  wine  to-night." 

"Thank  you,  my  lady.  It's  an  anniversary,  too,"  he 
mumbled,  lowering  his  husky  voice  for  the  last  words. 
But  Carmen  heard  them.  "You  remember  that!"  she 
exclaimed,  without  stopping  to  think,  or  perhaps  she 
would  not  have  spoken. 

"Oh,  yes,  my  lady,  I  remember,"  he  said.  "There's 
reasons  —  several  good  reasons  —  why  I  shan't  forget  that 
as  long  as  I  live.  You  see,  things  was  gettin'  pretty  bad 
for  you,  and  so " 

"Don't  let's  talk  of  it,  Sim!"  she  broke  in  sharply. 

"No,  my  lady,  we  won't,"  he  agreed.  "I  was  only 
goin'  to  spy,  things  bein'  so  bad  made  what  happened  a 
matter  for  rejoicin'  and  not  sorrow,  to  those  who  wish  you 
well.  That's  all  —  that's  all,  my  lady." 

"Thank  you,  Sim.  I  know  you're  fond  of  me  —  and 
grateful,"  Carmen  said.  "Things  were  bad.  I  don't 
pretend  to  grieve.  I  shouldn't  even  have  worn  mourning, 
if  Madame  Vestris,  the  great  palmist  in  San  Francisco, 
hadn't  told  me  it  would  bring  me  ill  luck  not  to.  I'm  glad 
the  year's  up.  I  hate  black !  This  is  a  better  anniversary 
than  a  silly  old  birthday,  Sim!" 

"Yes,  and  that  reminds  me,  my  lady,"  said  Simeon, 
"that  I've  put  together  enough  perfect  skins  of  the 
squirrels  I've  killed  without  the  dope  to  make  the  grand 
automobile  coat  I've  been  promisin'  you  so  long.  Got  the 
last  skin  cured  to-day,  as  it  happened.  Maybe,  that'll 
bring  you  good  luck ! " 

"Oh,  I  hope  so!"  she  cried. 

"Here's  Nick  —  Mr.  Hilliard,"  Harp  announced,  nod- 


IN  A  GARDEN  11 

ding  his  gray  head  in  the  direction  of  the  oleander  path, 
to  which  Carmen's  back  was  turned  as  she  stood. 

She  wheeled  quickly,  and  saw  a  tall  young  man  coming 
toward  her,  with  long  strides.  Instantly,  she  forgot 
Simeon  Harp,  and  did  not  even  see  him  as  he  hobbled 
away,  pulling  on  to  his  head  the  moth-eaten  cap  of  squirrel 
fur  which  he  always  wore,  summer  and  winter,  as  if  for  a 
sign  of  his  trade. 


II 

NICK 

NICK  HILLIARD  snatched  off  his  sombrero  as  he 
came  swinging  along  the  oleander  path.  He  was  tall, 
fully  six  feet  in  height,  and  looked  taller  than  he  was, 
being  lean  and  hard,  with  long  straight  legs  which  could 
carry  him  very  fast  over  great  stretches  of  country.  Also 
he  had  a  way  of  holding  his  head  high,  a  way  which  a 
man  gets  if  he  is  in  the  habit  of  gazing  toward  far  horizons. 
He  had  a  well-cut  nose,  a  good  chin,  and  a  mouth  that 
meant  strength  of  purpose,  though  some  of  his  friends 
laughed  at  him  for  a  "womanish"  curve  of  the  upper  lip. 
Luckily  Nick  did  not  mind  being  laughed  at  by  his  friends. 
His  face  was  almost  as  brown  as  his  hair,  for  the  sun  had 
darkened  the  one  and  bleached  the  other;  but  the  hair 
was  nice  hair,  with  a  glow  of  auburn  in  it,  which  con- 
trasted not  uninterestingly  with  his  black,  straight  brows. 
It  was,  however,  the  brilliance  of  the  brook-brown  eyes 
which  made  Nick  a  handsome  man,  and  not  merely  a 
"good-looking  fellow."  It  was  because  of  his  eyes  that 
women  turned  in  the  street  for  another  glance  when  he 
went  into  Bakersfield  or  Fresno;  but  Nick  never  knew 
that  they  turned.  He  liked  pretty  girls,  and  enjoyed  their 
society,  but  was  too  busy  to  seek  it,  and  had  had  little  of 
it  in  his  life.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  had  qualities 

12 


NICK  13 

to  attract  women.  Indeed,  he  wasted  few  thoughts  upon 
himself  as  an  individual;  not  enough,  perhaps;  for  he 
gave  his  whole  attention  to  his  work.  Work  was  what  he 
liked  best,  even  without  the  ultimate  success  it  brought, 
but  lately  he  had  begun  to  long  for  a  change.  He  had  a 
strong  wish  to  go  East,  and  a  reason  for  the  wish. 

Carmen  held  out  both  hands,  and  enjoyed  seeing  how 
white  they  looked  in  Nick's  sunburned,  slightly  freckled 
ones.  He  shook  hers,  frankly,  warmly,  and  apologized 
for  his  "rig,"  which  was  certainly  far  from  conventional. 
"I'm  ashamed  of  myself  for  blowin'  in  on  you  this  way," 
he  said,  "especially  as  you're  so  mighty  fine.  I  hope 
you'll  excuse  me,  for  you  know  I  pull  out  to-night,  and 
Jim  Beach  is  bringin'  the  buggy  along  here  for  me,  with 
my  grip  in  it.  If  I'd  piked  back  home  afterward,  my 
visit  with  you'd  have  been  a  cut  game." 

"Ah,  I'm  glad  you  arranged  not  to  go  back,"  said 
Carmen.  "  I  want  you  to  stay  with  me  as  long  as  you  can. 
I  like  you  in  those  clothes."  She  smiled  at  him  as  if  she 
would  like  him  in  anything;  but  Nick  was  thinking  about 
Jim  Beach,  wondering  if  the  boy  would  have  trouble  with 
the  flea-bitten  gray,  which  he  himself  had  newly  broken 
to  harness. 

"All  the  same,"  Carmen  went  on,  "though  I  like  them, 
you  haven't  got  much  vanity  if  you  mean  to  wear  those 
things  to  travel  East,  and  land  in  New  York." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  'em,  Mrs.  Gaylor?" 
Nick  asked.  He  spoke  carelessly,  in  the  matter  of  accent 
as  well  as  of  his  feeling  about  the  clothes.  He  cut  off  his 
words  in  a  slipshod  way,  as  if  he  had  never  had  time  to 
think  much  about  the  value  or  beauty  of  the  English 


14  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

language.  Still,  though  his  speech  was  not  that  of  a 
cultivated  man,  it  did  not  grate  on  the  ear.  His  voice  was 
singularly  pleasant,  even  sweet,  with  something  of  boyish 
gaiety  in  it. 

"The  things  are  all  right,  Nick,  and  you're  all  right  in 
them.  You  needn't  worry,"  said  Carmen.  "  Only  —  well, 
I  don't  believe  there'll  be  anything  else  like  them  —  or  like 
you  either  —  in  New  York." 

Nick  looked  himself  over  indifferently.  He  wore  a 
"soft"  white  shirt,  with  a  low  collar  turned  over  a  black 
scarf  tied  anyhow.  There  was  a  leather  belt  round  his 
waist,  which  obviated  the  need  of  a  waistcoat  or  sus- 
penders. His  short  coat  and  trousers  were  of  navy  blue 
serge.  Everything  he  had  on  was  neat  and  of  good 
material,  but  Carmen  smiled  when  she  thought  of  this  tall, 
belted  figure,  hatted  with  a  gray  sombrero  on  the  back  of 
its  head,  arriving  at  one  of  the  best  hotels  in  New  York. 
Nick  was  pretty  sure  to  go  to  one  of  the  best  hotels.  He 
wanted  to  see  life,  no  doubt,  and  get  his  money's  worth. 
Her  smile  was  as  tender  as  Carmen's  smile  could  be, 
however,  and  she  was  pleased  that  he  was  not  "dressing 
up"  to  make  an  impression  on  pretty  women  in  the  East. 

"I  don't  care  what  anybody  thinks  about  me  in  New 
York,"  said  he.  "As  long  as  you  excuse  me  for  not  having 
on  my  Sunday-go-to-meeting  rags  to  dine  with  you,  I 
don't  mind  the  rest." 

"I  thought  you  were  never  coming,"  she  said,  changing 
the  subject. 

"So  did  I,  by  George!     I  thought  the  fellow'd  never 

go." 

"Was  it  a  deputation  to  say  good-bye?" 


NICK  15 

"Lord,  no,  Mrs.  Gaylor!  It  was  a  chap  you  don't 
know,  I  guess.  I  only  ran  up  against  him  lately,  since  I 
sold  my  gusher  to  the  United  Oil  Company.  He's  their 
lawyer  —  and  does  some  work  for  the  railroad  too.  Smart 
sort  of  man  he  seems  to  be,  though  kind  of  stiff  when  you 
first  know  him:  between  forty  and  forty -five,  maybe: 
name's  Henry  Morehouse,  a  brother  of  a  bank  manager  in 
San  Francisco. 

"James  Morehouse  the  banker  is  a  very  rich,  important 
man,"  said  Carmen,  somewhat  impressed  by  the  idea  of 
Nick's  new  friend  who  had  stayed  too  long.  "I've  never 
met  his  family  myself.  You  know  how  close  I  was  kept 
till  a  year  ago.  But  I've  heard  of  them.  They're  in  with 
the  Falconer  set  and  that  lot,  so  it  shows  they're  smart. 
What  does  Henry  Morehouse  want,  making  up  to  you, 
Nick?" 

"It  was  oil  business  brought  us  together  and  he  seemed 
to  take  a  sort  of  likin'  to  me.  We  care  about  some  o'  the 
same  things  —  books  and  that.  Now  he's  going  East  — 
maybe  on  more  oil  business.  Anyhow,  he  proposes  we 
share  a  stateroom  on  the  Limited,  and  he's  been  recom- 
mendin'  his  hotel  in  New  York.  I  was  kind  of  plannin'  to 
be  a  swell,  and  hang  out  at  the  WTaldorf-Astoria,  to  see  the 
nobs  at  home.  But  bis  place  sounds  nice,  and  I  like  bein' 
with  him  pretty  well.  He's  lit  up  with  bright  ideas  and 
maybe  he'll  pass  on  some  to  me.  His  business  won't  keep 
him  long,  he  thinks;  and  he's  promised  his  brother  James  to 
look  after  a  lady  who's  landing  from  Europe  about  the  time 
we're  due  in  New  York.  He'll  meet  her  ship;  and  if  she 
doesn't  want  to  stay  East  any  length  of  time,  he'll  bring 
her  back  to  California.  She  means  to  settle  out  here." 


16  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Carmen's  face  hardened  into  anxious  lines,  though  she 
kept  up  a  smile  of  interest.  She  looked  older  than  she  had 
looked  when  she  held  out  her  hands  to  Nick.  She  had 
been  about  twenty-six  then.  Now  she  was  over  thirty. 

"Is  the  lady  young  or  old?"  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  her,"  Nick  answered  with 
a  ring  of  truthfulness  in  his  voice  which  Carmen's  keen 
ears  accepted.  "All  I  can  tell  you  is,  that  she's  a  Mrs. 
May,  a  relation  or  friend  of  Franklin  Merriam  the  big 
California  millionaire  who  died  East  about  ten  years  ago 
— about  the  time  I  was  first  cowpunching  on  your  ranch." 

"Oh,  the  Franklin  Merriam  who  made  such  stacks  of 
money  irrigating  desert  land  he  owned  somewhere  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  State!"  Carmen  sighed  with  relief. 
"  I  Ve  heard  of  him  of  course.  He  must  have  been  middle- 
aged  when  he  died,  so  probably  this  woman's  old  or  old- 
ish." 

"I  suppose  so,"  Nick  readily  agreed.  "Great  king, 
isn't  it  mighty  sweet  here  to-night?  It  looks  like  heaven, 
I  guess,  and  you're  like  —  like ' 

"If  this  is  heaven,  am  I  an  angel?  Do  I  seem  like  that 
to  you?" 

"Well,  no  —  not  exactly  my  idea  of  an  angel,  somehow: 
though  I  don't  know,"  he  reflected  aloud.  "You're  sure 
handsome  enough  —  for  anything,  Mrs.  Gaylor.  But  I've 
always  thought  of  angels  lily  white,  with  moonlight  hair 
and  starry  eyes." 

"You're  quite  poetical!"  retorted  Carmen,  piqued. 
"But  other  men  have  told  me  my  eyes  are  stars." 

He  looked  straight  into  them,  and  at  the  hot  pome- 
granate colour  which  blazed  up  in  her  olive  cheeks,  like  a 


NICK  17 

reflection  of  the  sunset.  And  Carmen  looked  back  at  him 
with  her  big,  splendid  eyes. 

It  was  a  man's  look  he  gave  her,  a  man's  look  at  a 
woman;  but  not  a  man's  look  at  the  woman  he  wants. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "They're  not  stars.  They're 
more  like  the  sun  at  noon  in  midsummer,  when  so  many 
flowers  are  pourin'  out  perfume  you  can  hardly  keep 
your  senses." 

Carmen  was  no  longer  hurt.  "That's  the  best  com- 
pliment I  ever  had,  and  I've  had  a  good  many,"  she 
laughed.  "Besides  —  coming  from  you,  Nick!  I  be- 
lieve it's  the  first  you  ever  paid  me  right  out  in  so  many 
words." 

"Was  it  a  compliment?"  Nick  asked  doubtfully  and 
boyishly.  "Well,  I'm  real  glad  I  was  smart  enough  to 
bring  one  off.  I  spoke  out  just  what  came  into  my  mind, 
and  I'd  have  felt  mighty  bad  if  you'd  been  cross." 

"I'm  not  cross!"  she  assured  him.  "I'd  rather  be  a 
woman  —  for  you  —  than  an  angel.  Angels  are  cold,  far- 
off,  impossible  things  that  men  can't  grasp.  Besides,  their 
wings  would  probably  moult." 

Nick  laughed,  a  pleasant,  soft  laugh,  half  under  his 
breath.  "Say,  I  don't  picture  angels  with  wings!  The 
sort  that  flits  into  my  mind  when  I'm  tired  out  after  a  right 
hard  day  and  feel  kind  of  lonesome  for  something  beautiful, 
I  don't  know  hardly  what  —  only  something  I've  never  had 
—  that  sort  of  angel  is  a  woman,  too,  and  not  cold,  though 
far  above  me,  of  course.  She  has  starry  eyes  and  moon- 
light hair  —  lots  of  it,  hanging  down  in  waves  that  could  al- 
most drown  her.  But  I  guess,  after  all — as  you  say  —  that 
sort's  not  my  line.  I'll  never  come  in  the  light  she  makes 


18  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

with  her  shining,  and  if  I  should  by  accident,  she  wouldn't 
go  shooting  any  of  her  starry  glances  my  way." 

Carmen  was  vexed  again.  "I  didn't  know  you  were  so 
sentimental,  Nick!" 

He  looked  half  ashamed. 

"Well,  I  didn't  know  I  was,  either,  till  it  popped  out," 
he  grinned.  "But  I  suppose  'most  every  man  has  senti- 
mental spells.  Maybe,  even,  he  wouldn't  be  worth  his 
salt  if  he  hadn't.  Sometimes  I  think  that  way.  But  my 
spells  don't  come  on  often.  When  they  do,  it's  generally 
nights  in  spring  —  like  this,  when  special  kinds  of  night- 
thoughts  come  flyin'  along  like  moths  —  thoughts  about 
past  and  future.  But  lately,  since  that  blessed  little  oil 
town  has  been  croppin'  up  like  a  bed  of  mushrooms  round 
my  big  gusher  —  or  rather,  the  company's  gusher,  as  it  is 
now  —  I've  had  my  mind  on  that  more  than  anything  else, 
unless  it's  been  my  ditches.  Gee !  there's  as  much  romance 
about  irrigation  in  this  country,  I  guess,  as  there  is  about 
angels  which  you  can  see  only  in  dreams;  for  you  see 
every  day,  when  you're  wide  awake,  the  miracle  of  your 
ditches.  You  just  watch  your  desert  stretches  or  your 
meanest  grazin'  meadows  turn  into  fairyland.  I  say,  Mrs. 
Gaylor,  have  you  ever  read  a  mighty  fine  book — old  but 
good  and  fresh  as  to-morrow's  bread  —  called  The  Arabian 
Nights?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  dare  say  I  read  some  of  it  when  I  was 
a  little  girl,"  replied  Carmen,  wondering  what  Nick  was 
leading  up  to.  "It's  for  children,  isn't  it?" 

"I  reckon  it's  for  every  one  with  the  right  stuff  in  'em," 
said  Nick.  "Anyhow,  I  haven't  grown  up  enough  to  get 
beyond  it.  I  don't  mean  ever  to  turn  the  boy  that  lives 


NICK  19 

inside  of  me  out-of-doors.  If  I  ever  do  anything  to  make 
him  so  mad  that  he  quits,  I'll  be  finished  — dried  up.  That 
book,  The  Arabian  Nights,  has  got  a  dead  clinch  on  me. 
You  know,  when  I  run  into  Bakersfield,  I  like  to  have  a 
browse  in  the  bookstores.  It  sort  of  rests  me,  and  seein' 
the  pictures  in  that  book  made  me  buy  it  —  a  birthday 
present  for  my  affectionate  self " 

"Your  birthday!"  Carmen  broke  in,  tired  of  this  book 
talk,  but  not  tired  of  anything  that  concerned  him.  "  You 
never  told  me.  That  was  bad  of  you.  How  old,  Nick? 
I'm  not  sure  to  a  year  or  so." 

"Twenty-nine.  Quite  some  age,  isn't  it?  But  there's 
lots  I  want  to  do  before  I'm  old.  I  don't  know,  though,  as 
I  mean  ever  to  be  old." 

"Of  course,  you  never  will  be."  Carmen  agreed  with 
him  aloud,  but  she  was  thinking  in  an  undertone:  "Only 
twenty -nine,  and  I'm  thirty-three.  He  won't  be  old  ever, 
or  for  a  long  time,  but  I  will.  I'm  that  kind,  I'm  afraid. 
My  mother  was.  I've  got  no  time  to  lose;  but  to-day's 
mine.  Nick  must  love  me  really,  though  maybe  he's  too 
used  to  me  to  know  it,  without  being  stirred  up  by  some- 
thing unusual.  But  I'll  try  my  hardest  to  make  him  know 
it  to-night." 

"Go  on  about  your  'Arabian  Nights,'  "  she  said,  to  give 
herself  time  for  the  arranging  of  her  tactics. 

"Oh,  well,  all  I  really  began  to  say  was  this:  I  was 
reading  the  story  of  Aladdin  and  an  enchanted  cave  of 
jewels  he  dropped  into.  There  was  a  magic  ring  and  a 
lamp  in  the  story  too,  that  you  could  rub  and  get  pretty 
near  anything  you  wanted;  so  I  was  thinking  this  irriga- 
tion business  of  ours  in  California  is  like  rubbing  that  lamp. 


20  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

It  throws  open  doors  of  dark  caves  in  deserts,  and  gives 
up  enchanted  gardens  full  of  jewelled  fruit  and  flowers. 
Then  rub  the  smoky  old  lamp  again  and  you  get  a  spout 
of  oil  —  another  gift,  which  makes  you  feel  as  if  a  genie'd 
chucked  it  to  you.  Look  at  my  gusher,  for  instance! 
Just  think,  Mrs.  Gaylor,  if  you  don't  mind  my  talking  this 
way  about  myself  —  you  sold  me  my  land,  sliced  it  right 
off  your  own  ranch  —  let  me  have  it  darn  cheap,  too,  when 
the  boss  died " 

"I  wanted  to  keep  you  as  near  as  possible,  Nick,  when 
people  began  to  be  silly  and  say  I  oughtn't  to  have  a  young 
man  like  you  on  the  place  as  foreman,  with  me  alone,  and 
Eld  gone.  I  needed  you  badly,  and  I'd  have  been  glad  to 
give  you  land  for  nothing  if  you'd  have  taken  it.  Gracious ! 
I've  got  so  much  left  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it,  or 
wouldn't  if  you  weren't  where  you  can  advise  me." 

"That's  your  generous  way  of  puttin'  things,"  said 
Nick.  "And  it  was  walkin'  along  toward  you,  brought 
up  these  fairy-book  thoughts  so  strong.  My  land's  all 
right,  though  my  house  is  a  shack  and  I  haven't  got  any 
flower-garden  except  in  my  head.  But  over  here  is  another 
world;  and  I  was  say  in'  to  myself,  how  I  owe  the  biggest 
things  of  my  life  to  you.  True,  I  was  taking  out  my  wages 
in  calves  while  the  boss  was  alive,  and  he  was  lettin'  me 
put  my  brand  on  'em  by  the  hundred.  But  square  as  he 
was  with  me,  he'd  never  have  sold  the  land  for  the  price 
you  did.  Not  only  that,  but  when  I  struck  oil,  a  month 
or  so  after  he  went,  look  what  happened.  I  hadn't  the 
capital  to  do  any  good.  'Twas  you  put  the  money  in  my 
hand  for  the  well-sinking  and 

"But  you  insisted  on  mortgaging  every  acre  you  bought 


NICK  21 

—  your  cattle  and  everything  you  had,  to  me;  so  that 
took  away  the  credit,"  cried  Carmen,  touched  by  his 
gratitude,  and  happy  in  the  renewed  assurance  that  this 
man  was  hers.  "Besides,  all  you  did  and  spent  seemed 
likely  to  harm  more  than  help,  when  everybody  said  you 
wouldn't  get  enough  oil  to  pay  for  sinking  your  wells.  It 
was  only  when  the  gusher  burst  out  by  accident  and  took 
every  one  by  surprise  that  your  troubles  were  over." 

"If  there's  any  such  thing  as  accident,"  Nick  mumbled, 
his  eyes  far  away  from  Carmen.  "  The  longer  I  live,  the 
more  I  think  there  isn't.  It's  all  arranged  by  Something 
Big  up  there  beyond  where  the  sun's  sinking  and  the 
moon's  rising.  But  maybe  you'll  say  that's  sentimental, 
like  the  angel-thought.  I  don't  mean  it  that  way,  though 
I've  got  an  almighty  lot  to  thank  the  Something  for  —  as 
well  as  to  thank  you." 

"  It  wasn't  I  who  took  the  gusher  off  your  hands,  any- 
how, and  saved  you  the  expense  of  coping  with  it,"  said 
Carmen.  "So  I  suppose  you  think  it  was  Heaven  sent 
you  those  men  to  buy  what  oil  land  you  wanted  to  sell, 
and  start  Lucky  Star  City." 

"I  guess  that's  Who  it  was.  Not  that  I  deserve  any 
special  kindness  from  that  quarter,"  Nick  laughed.  "My 
mother  used  to  talk  a  lot  about  those  things,  you  know, 
and  though  I  was  only  a  little  shaver  when  she  died,  I've 
remembered  'most  all  that  was  connected  with  her." 

Carmen  did  not  speak.  She  knew  the  history  of  Nick's 
terrible  childhood  and  early  youth.  Long  ago  he  bad  told 
her  how  his  grandfather,  a  California  pioneer  of  good 
Southern  family,  a  successful  judge,  had  turned  an  only 
son  away,  penniless,  because  the  boy  of  twenty  chose  to 


22  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

take  for  a  wife  a  pretty  little  dressmaker,  of  no  family  at  all; 
how  the  couple  had  gone  East,  to  live  on  a  few  hundred 
dollars  left  to  the  boy  by  an  aunt;  how  he  had  hoped 
and  expected  to  succeed  in  New  York  as  a  journalist  and 
writer;  how  he  had  failed  and  starved  with  his  bride; 
how  he  had  faded  out  of  life  while  Nick  was  a  baby;  how 
the  girl-widow  had  taken  in  sewing  to  support  her  child, 
and  when  she  couldn't  get  that,  had  washed  or  scrubbed; 
and  how,  as  Nick  became  a  wise,  worried  old  man  of  four 
or  five  years,  he  had  been  able  to  help  earn  the  family 
living  by  selling  the  newspapers  which  had  refused  his 
dead  father's  contributions.  Nick  had  not  enlarged  upon 
his  adventures  after  this  stage  of  his  youthful  career, 
merely  sketching  them  in  the  baldest  manner,  when  it  had 
been  necessary  to  present  his  credentials  to  the  "boss" — 
"old  Grizzly  Gaylor."  But  in  one  way  or  other  it  had 
leaked  out  that  the  boy  had  learned  to  read  and  write 
and  cipher  at  a  night  school  in  New  York,  not  having  time 
for  such  "frills"  as  schooling  by  day.  And  Carmen  could 
not  help  knowing  that  he  had  gone  on  studying,  and 
thinking  out  his  own  rather  queer  ideas  about  heaven  and 
earth,  ever  since,  in  spite  of  the  most  strenuous  interrup- 
tions —  for  she  had  been  ashamed  occasionally  by  happen- 
ing to  discover  how  much  Nick  knew.  He  had  read 
everybody  and  everything  from  Plato  to  Schopenhauer, 
whereas  it  bored  Carmen  unspeakably  to  read  anything 
except  novels,  and  verses  which  she  liked  sometimes  in 
magazines,  because  their  pathos  or  passion  might  have 
been  written  round  her. 

She  knew  how  Nick,  as  a  little  boy,  had  swept  shops  and 
found  all  sorts  of  odd  jobs;  how  he  had  been  errand  boy, 


NICK  23 

and  district  messenger  in  a  uniform  of  which  he  had  been 
proud  because  it  made  him  feel  "almost  like  a  soldier"; 
how  after  his  mother's  death  he  had  got  his  long-cherished 
wish  to  "go  West,"  by  working  on  the  railway  and  eventu- 
ally becoming  a  brakesman.  After  that  short  experience 
"cowpunching"  days  had  come,  and  after  several  years 
in  a  subordinate  position  on  Eldridge  Gaylor's  ranch 
he  had  at  twenty-five  been  made  foreman.  But  by  this 
time  he  was  already  a  familiar  figure  in  her  life  —  the  life 
which  she  had  chosen,  and  hated  after  it  was  chosen, 
except  for  Nick  Hilliard,  who  had  always  loomed  large 
in  it,  though  she  saw  little  of  him  until  a  year  ago. 

Except  perhaps  with  the  old  man  she  had  married  for  his 
money  and  hated  for  his  brutality,  Carmen  believed  that 
Nick  Hilliard's  "ways"  and  good  looks  had  helped,  even 
more  than  his  courage  and  cleverness,  to  win  him  success 
and  recognition.  With  Eldridge  Gay  lor  it  had  been 
different.  He  thought  of  no  man's  pleasant  looks  or  ways, 
though  even  upon  the  corrugated  iron  of  his  nature,  a 
woman's  beauty  had  had  influence,  and  he  had  married 
Carmen  off  the  comic  opera  stage,  in  the  City  of  Mexico, 
where  he  had  gone  to  see  a  great  bullfight  ten  years  ago. 
When  he  had  brought  her  home  to  his  famous  ranch, 
willing  for  a  while  to  be  her  slave  and  give  her  everything 
she  wanted,  she  had  found  Nick  a  cowpuncher  among 
other  cowpunchers.  And  she  had  seen  how  he  made  "old 
Grizzly"  respect  him.  But  his  promotion  had  come 
through  a  row  and  an  attempt  at  murdering  the  "boss" 
by  a  drunken  foreman  driven  mad  by  a  blow  from  the 
short  whip  Gaylor  carried  about  the  ranch.  Nick  had 
saved  his  employer's  life,  risking  his  own  —  for  he  was  im- 


24  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

armed  at  the  moment;  and  to  his  surprise  the  reward  had 
been  the  discharged  foreman's  place.  Carmen  shivered 
a  little  even  now,  remembering  that  night,  and  how  she 
had  worshipped  Nick  for  his  bravery.  She  had  never 
since  ceased  to  worship  him,  though  he  had  done  a  great 
many  things  which  irritated  her  extremely,  such  as  saving 
"old  Grizzly's"  life  once  again:  but  those  years  were  past. 

As  she  wondered  whether  Nick  would  like  her  to  talk 
with  him  about  his  mother,  or  whether  that  subject  was 
too  delicate  to  pursue,  a  musical  Japanese  gong  sounded 
from  a  side  gallery. 

"Oh,  it  must  be  half -past  seven,''  she  said.  "I  ordered 
dinner  early,  so  we  could  talk  afterward  by  moonlight 
(I  love  talking  in  moonlight !)  before  the  time  for  you  to  go. 
You  can  give  me  your  arm,  if  you  like,  Nick." 

Of  course,  Nick  "liked,"  though  he  had  never  taken 
a  lady  to  dinner  in  that  way  before,  and  he  felt  proud,  if 
a  little  awkward,  as  a  bare,  creamy  arm  laid  itself  on 
his  coat-sleeve. 

Slowly  and  without  speaking,  they  walked  along  a 
flower-bordered  path  that  skirted  the  lawn  on  one  side, 
and  on  the  other  a  canal  full  to  the  brim  of  glittering  water, 
which  reflected  the  sky  and  the  two  figures. 

It  was  a  place  and  an  hour  made  for  love. 


Ill 

THE  ANNIVERSARY 

THEY  did  not  dine  in  the  house,  though  one  of  the 
show  rooms  was  a  huge  dining-hall  like  a  glorified  re- 
fectory in  an  old  Spanish  mission.  After  the  beginning  of 
April,  and  sometimes  long  before,  Carmen  seldom  took  a 
meal  indoors,  unless  she  was  attacked  by  one  of  her  fierce 
fits  of  depression,  and  had  a  whim  to  hate  the  sun. 

She  and  Nick  mounted  the  steps,  passed  the  fountain 
which  spouted  diamond  spray  through  a  round  head  made 
of  some  flowering  water-plant,  went  on  round  a  corner, 
Carmen's  dress  brushing  fallen  camellia  petals  or  pink 
shells  of  broken  roses,  and  so  came  to  another  veranda. 
This  was  pergola  as  well.  It  had  no  roof  but  beams  of  old 
Spanish  chestnut,  so  draped  with  wistaria  and  roses  that 
the  whole  out-of-doors  room  was  canopied  with  leaves  and 
hanging  clusters  of  flowers.  Only  a  faint  filtering  of  sun 
or  moonshine  could  steal  through,  and  such  rays  as  pene- 
trated seemed  to  be  dyed  pink  and  purple  by  draining 
through  the  flowers. 

Suspended  from  the  beams  were  big  iridescent  pearl- 
shells,  known  in  southern  California  as  "abalone,"  and  in 
the  rainbow-tinted  half-globes  gleamed  electric  lights, 
subdued  by  dull  gold  glass;  but  neither  these  nor  the  tall 
shaded  lamps  on  the  low  wall  of  the  terrace,  nor  the  hidden 

25 


26  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

electric  bulbs  in  the  fountain  basin,  were  allowed  to  shine 
out  yet.  As  Carmen  said,  she  liked  to  talk  by  moonlight; 
and  now,  over  in  the  east,  behind  magnolia  and  palm  trees, 
the  moon  had  been  born  while  the  sun  died  in  the  west. 

If  it  had  been  her  wedding-night  dinner  Carmen  could 
not  have  been  more  careful  in  ordering  the  different 
dishes  and  planning  the  decorations  of  the  table.  Usually 
whether  she  were  alone  or  had  guests  (as  she  had  some- 
times, though  "society"  had  never  taken  her  up),  she  left 
everything  to  her  Chinese  head-cook,  who  was  a  worthy 
rival  of  any  Parisian  chef;  and  the  beautifying  of  her 
table  to  the  artistic  Japanese  youth  whose  one  business 
in  life  was  to  think  out  new  flower-combinations.  This, 
however,  was  not  only  the  anniversary  of  the  day  which 
had  given  her  freedom,  but  she  hoped  it  might  be  one  to 
remember  for  a  sweeter  reason.  Besides,  Nick  Hilliard 
was  to  be  enchanted,  to  be  made  conscious  of  himself 
and  her,  as  the  only  man,  the  only  woman,  worth  thinking 
of  in  the  world. 

The  air  was  sweet  with  the  fragrance  of  orange-blossoms, 
and  the  deep-red  velvet  roses  which  were  Carmen's  own 
flowers.  Nick  was  a  water  drinker  by  preference  and  be- 
cause he  was  an  open-air  man,  also  because  it  had  been 
necessary  for  him  to  set  an  example;  but  to-night  Carmen 
made  him  sip  a  little  iced  champagne,  and  she  drank  to 
the  success  of  his  first  visit  East  since  boyhood  —  to  his 
safe  and  speedy  home-coming. 

"Because  this  is  home,  Nick;  your  home,"  she  said. 
"It  would  kill  me  if  you  saw  any  place  you  liked  better, 
and  if  you  made  up  your  mind  that  you  wanted  to  sell 
out  and  live  in  New  York." 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  27 

"No  fear,"  said  Nick.  "No  man  ever  left  paradise  un- 
less he  was  driven  out  by  flaming  swords." 

"Then  you  won't  be  gone  long?"  she  asked,  playing 
with  the  abalone  chowder  on  her  plate. 

"Not  more  than  a  month  anyhow;  maybe  a  few  days 
less  if  I  get  homesick;  though  it  would  hardly  be  worth 
while  to  go  so  far  for  a  shorter  time,  after  staying  West  so 
many  years  without  a  single  break.  First,  I  count  on 
poking  round  in  some  of  our  old  haunts  —  poor  mother's 
and  mine  —  and  then,  when  I  am  way  down  in  the  dumps 
I'll  yank  myself  up  again  with  a  little  fun  —  theatres  and 
roof-gardens  and  such-like." 

"You've  seen  good  plays  in  San  Francisco,"  said 
Carmen. 

"Yes,  San  Franciso's  a  great  place.  Only  I  haven't 
had  time  to  go  there  once  in  a  blue  moon.  And  just 
now  it's  those  old  associations  pulling  —  something  seems 
drawing  and  drawing  me  to  the  East.  It's  like  a  voice 
calling  my  name  —  'Nick  —  Nick,  I  want  you.  Come!' 
Funny,  isn't  it?" 

Carmen  was  not  sure  that  it  was  funny.  For  she  was 
superstitious  beyond  all  things;  and  at  that  moment 
it  happened  that  she  could  hear  the  moaning  note  of 
ioves  —  a  sound  which  she  believed  always  brought  her 
bad  luck. 

"What  kind  of  a  voice  is  it?"  she  asked,  laughing 
rather  shrilly.  "Not  a  woman's,  I  hope?" 

"I  guess  it's  that  angel's  I  was  telling  you  about." 
Nick  smiled. 

Carmen  motioned  the  Chinese  butler  to  fill  her  guest's 
glass,  which  he  had  hardly  touched. 


28  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"  Don't  let's  talk  any  more  of  angels,"  she  said.  "  Let's 
talk  of  me,  and  you.  Nick,  do  you  know  what  to-night  is? 
A  year  since  I  was  free.  'At  the  end  of  a  year'  I  always 
said  to  myself.  'Twelve  long  months  of  hypocritical 
respect  paid  to  the  memory  of  a  person  who  was  more 
brute  than  man.  But  not  a  day  more,  when  the  twelve 
months  are  over.  Then  —  happiness  —  new  life !'  Don't 
you  consider  I'm  justified  in  feeling  like  that?" 

Nick  thought  for  a  moment,  not  looking  at  Carmen.  He 
gazed  out  through  the  torn  curtain  of  roses  into  the  silver 
of  the  moonlight,  over  the  wide  lawn  with  its  fountains, 
toward  the  walls  of  trees  which  screened  from  sight  the 
rolling  billows  of  the  ranch-meadows  with  their  cattle, 
their  shining,  canal-like  irrigation-ditches,  their  golden 
grain,  their  afalfa,  their  fruit  and  flowers.  All  this  wealth 
and  much  more  old  Grizzly  Gaylor  had  given  the  pretty 
young  singer  in  exchange  for  her  beauty  and  the  pleasure 
of  snatching  her  away  from  other  men.  Despite  the 
"boss's"  notorious  failings,  it  grated  on  Hilliard  to  hear 
Carmen  rejoice  aloud  because  her  husband  was  under- 
ground, and  she  was  free  of  him  now  that  his  back  was 
turned  forever. 

"Probably  you're  right,"  Nick  said.  "Yet  — it  kind 
of  rubs  me  up  the  wrong  way  to  listen  to  you  talkin'  like 
that,  in  particular  just  this  very  night." 

"Why  in  particular  this  very  night?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

"Well  —  I  guess  it's  only  conventional,  because,  why 
are  twelve  months  more  important  than  fourteen  or  any 
other  number?  But  it's  the  feeling  of  an  anniversary,  I 
suppose.  A  year  ago  to-day  he  breathed  his  last  —  and 
he  didn't  want  to  die.  It  sort  of  seems  as  if  to-day  ought 


THE  ANNIVERSARY  29 

to  be  sacred  to  him,  no  matter  what  he  was.  And  — 
maybe  I'm  a  dashed  hypocrite  and  don't  know  it,  but  it 
doesn't  suit  my  ideas  of  you  to  get  the  feeling  that  you 
set  up  to-night  as  festival.  I  expect  I'm  wrong,  though, 
and  you  ought  to  be  lecturin'  me  instead  of  me  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  lecture  you,  Nick,  whether  you  under- 
stand me  or  not,"  said  Carmen.  But  the  dinner  and  the 
meaning  of  the  feast  were  spoilt  for  her  in  an  instant. 
She  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  because  it  had 
spoken  the  wrong  words  —  words  which  jarred  on  Nick 
at  the  very  moment  when  she  most  wished  to  charm 
him.  She  knew,  with  a  heavy  weight  of  premonition, 
that  this  moonlight  talk  she  had  planned  would  give  her 
nothing  worth  having  now.  To  try  to  make  Nick  feel 
her  power  would  do  more  harm  than  good,  because  the 
night  had  suddenly  become  haunted  by  the  spirit  of  the 
dead  man.  "I'm  punished,"  she  thought,  superstitiously. 
But  she  exerted  herself  to  be  cheerful,  lest  Nick  should 
go  East  disgusted  with  her.  And  that  would  be  the  end 
of  all. 


IV 
A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING 

ANGELA  MAY  sat  in  her  chair  on  the  promenade- 
deck  of  the  Adriatic  and  felt  peacefully  conscious  that 
she  was  resting  body  and  brain. 

The  ship  was  not  crowded,  for  it  was  spring,  and  the 
great  tide  of  travel  had  turned  in  the  opposite  direction  — 
toward  Europe.  On  either  side  of  her  chair  were  several 
which  were  unoccupied,  and  a  soothing  silence  hovered 
round  her,  through  which  she  could  listen  to  the  whisper 
of  the  sea  as  the  ship  glided  on  to  the  land  of  hope. 

Loneliness  gave  a  real  joy  to  Angela;  for,  young  as  she 
was,  she  had  lived  through  an  ordeal,  and  had  taken  a 
step  which  meant  high  nervous  tension  leading  up  to  a 
supreme  decision.  She  was  glad  all  was  over,  and  well 
over;  desperately  glad  that  her  courage  had  not  failed. 

"Oh,  how  thankful  I  am!"  she  said  again  and  again, 
under  her  breath.  Still,  she  vaguely  envied  some  of  the 
family  parties  on  the  ship,  who  appeared  happy  and 
united .  Not  that  she  wanted  them  to  talk  to  her.  Witty , 
lively  people  could  be  very  nice  when  you  were  in  the 
mood  for  them,  but  agonizing  when  you  were  not;  and 
since  it  wasn't  permissible  to  cover  human  beings  up 
like  canaries  when  you  had  tired  of  them,  or  send  them 
away  like  children  when  they  had  prattled  enough,  Angela 

30 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  31 

cuddled  down  among  her  cushions  and  rugs,  glad  to  be  let 
alone  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  But  there  was  a  young 
mother  with  a  small  imp  of  a  curly-haired  girl,  who 
fascinated  her,  and  made  her  think.  Once,  when  the  imp 
fell  on  the  deck,  to  be  caught  up  and  kissed  until  a  wail 
ended  in  a  laugh,  Angela  said  to  herself,  "If  my  mother 
had  been  like  that,  everything  would  have  been  different 
for  me." 

Saunterers  for  exercise  or  flirtation  often  turned  for  a 
glance  at  Angela.  What  they  saw  was  a  slim  girl,  with 
pearly  fair  skin,  big  gray  eyes,  quantities  of  wavy  hair  of  so 
pale  a  yellow-brown  that  it  was  like  gold  under  the 
mourning  hat  she  wore.  Her  low  black  collar  made  the 
slender  throat  that  rose  out  of  it  white  as  a  lily.  The  oval 
of  her  face  was  perfect,  and  when  she  read  or  closed  her 
eyes,  as  she  sometimes  did,  the  long  lashes,  many  shades 
darker  than  her  hair,  and  the  delicate  arch  of  the  brown 
eyebrows,  gave  her  the  soft,  sweet  look  of  a  child  asleep. 

Always  the  glances  were  more  admiring  than  curious; 
but  they  were  curious,  too,  for  every  one  was  wondering 
who  she  was.  In  spite  of  her  youth,  there  was  something 
of  pride  and  distinction  about  her  which  made  it  seem  that 
she  could  not  be  an  ordinary  sort  of  person  you  had  never 
heard  of;  a  mere  Miss  Smith  or  Mrs.  Brown.  Yet  all  the 
"swells"  on  board  had  been  duly  accounted  for  and  rec- 
ognized. She  was  not  one  of  them. 

"What  a  pretty  girl!"  people  said.  "And  she  seems 
to  be  travelling  alone,  unless  her  friends  are  too  sick  to 
come  out  of  their  cabins.  Apparently  she  hasn't  even 
brought  a  maid  —  yet  what  lovely  clothes  she  has,  though 
so  simple,  and  all  black.  Perhaps  she's  in  mourning  for 


32  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

her  father  or  her  mother,  or  some  near  relation.     She's 
too  young  to  be  a  widow!" 

Angela  did  not  much  mind  these  glances,  or  this  gentle 
curiosity,  for  no  normal  woman  objects  to  being  thought 
pretty.  But  it  was  delightful  to  feel  sure  that  no  one 
knew  who  she  was.  If  she  were  on  the  passenger-list  as 
the  Princess  di  Sereno  she  would  be  more  stared  at  and 
bothered  than  that  poor,  fat  Duchess  of  Dorsetshire,  who 
was  too  near-sighted  to  recognize  her  at  a  distance,  thank 
goodness.  Each  glance  thrown  her  way  would  have  been 
an  annoyance,  for  there  would  have  been  nothing  flattering 
in  any  spice  of  interest  her  title  gave.  Some  silly  creatures 
might  have  stared  at  her  because  she  was  a  princess;  but 

—  far  worse  —  others  would  have  looked  because  they 
knew  all  about  her. 

These  would  have  buzzed:  "Why,  that's  the  Princess 
di  Sereno,  don't  you  know,  the  only  child  of  the  California 
millionaire  who  died  about  ten  years  ago,  so  suddenly 
while  his  wife  and  little  daughter  were  in  Europe!  The 
girl  married  that  Roman  prince,  Paolo  di  Sereno,  who 
used  to  make  such  a  sensation  going  about  in  an  aeroplane, 
and  gambling  high  at  Monte  Carlo  —  awfully  handsome 
man,  a  lot  older  than  she.  He  must  have  been  nearly 
forty,  and  she  seventeen,  when  she  married  him.  Her 
mother  made  the  match,  of  course:  girl  just  out  of  school 

—  the  wedding  wasn't  six  weeks  after  she  was  presented  hi 
England.     The  prince  met  her  there,  has  English  rela- 
tions, like  most  of  the  Roman  nobility.     But  the  interest- 
ing part  of  the  story  is  this:  they  never  lived  together  as 
husband  and  wife.     The  bride  either  found  out  some 
secret  the  prince  had  kept  from  her  (which  is  what  people 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  33 

believe),  or  else  there  was  a  mysterious  row  the  first  hour 
after  the  wedding.  Anyhow,  something  happened;  he 
went  off  the  same  day  and  left  her  with  her  mother. 
Afterward,  he  came  back;  but  it  was  an  open  secret  that 
the  two  were  no  more  than  strangers,  or,  you  might  say, 
polite  acquaintances,  though  they  lived  at  opposite  ends 
of  his  palace  in  Rome,  which  her  money  restored,  and  his 
country  place  near  Frascati.  There  was  never  the  least 
scandal,  only  wild  curiosity.  Now  she  has  cut  the  whole 
thing.  Apparently  couldn't  stand  the  empty  sort  of  life, 
or  else  he  did  something  worse  than  usual,  at  which  she 
drew  the  line." 

Angela  did  not  much  care  whether  people  in  Rome 
knew  the  truth  or  not.  That  no  longer  greatly  mattered 
to  her,  because  she  meant  never,  never  to  go  back  to 
Rome,  or  to  see  Paolo  di  Sereno,  or  any  of  his  friends  — 
who  had  never  really  been  her  friends.  But  she  did  not 
want  people  on  the  ship  to  know,  because  she  was  tired  of 
being  talked  about,  and  her  hope  was  to  begin  a  new  and 
different  life.  For  herself,  she  had  nothing  to  conceal; 
but  she  had  never  felt  any  pride  or  pleasure  in  being  a 
princess,  and  after  the  flatteries  and  disillusions,  the 
miseries  and  foolish  extravagances  of  the  last  hateful, 
brilliant  six  years,  everything  connected  with  them,  and 
the  historic  title  her  dead  father's  money  had  bought,  was 
being  eagerly  obliterated  by  Franklin  Merriam's  daughter. 
She  knew  little  about  her  forebears  on  her  father's  side, 
except  that  they  were  English,  whereas  Paolo  had  centuries 
behind  him  crammed  full  of  glorious  ancestors  whose 
deeds  were  celebrated  on  tapestries  of  great  beauty  and 
value.  Her  one  tolerable  memory  of  Paolo  was  that  he 


34  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

had  never  touched  her  hand  since  their  marriage;  but  the 
memory  of  her  father  was  sacred.  She  adored  him,  and 
was  never  weary  of  recalling  things  he  had  said  to 
her,  pleasures  he  had  planned  for  her  as  a  child,  and, 
above  all,  his  stories  of  California,  whither  she  was  now 
bound. 

Angela  had  taken  the  name  of  "Mrs.  May";  May, 
because  May  was  her  birth-month,  and  also  her  middle 
name  given  by  her  father,  whereas  Angela  had  been  her 
mother's  choice.  Therefore  she  was  just  superstitious 
enough  to  feel  that  "May"  might  bring  happiness,  since 
her  father's  memory  was  the  single  unshadowed  spot  in 
her  life  of  twenty-three  years.  A  brilliant  life  it  would 
have  seemed  to  most  women,  one  to  be  envied;  but 
Angela  could  not  see  why. 

The  lashes  which  shaded  her  slate-gray  eyes  had  that 
upward  curl  which  shows  an  undying  sense  of  humour, 
and  she  had  been  a  merry  little  girl,  with  flashes  of  wit 
which  had  enchanted  Franklin  Merriam  before  she  was 
snatched  away  to  Europe  at  eleven,  never  to  see  him 
again.  Even  at  school  where  she  had  been  "dumped" 
(as  Mrs.  Merriara's  intimate  enemies  put  it),  Angela  had 
kept  the  girls  laughing.  Now,  though  she  had  imagined 
her  gay  spirit  dead  with  childhood,  she  began  to  be  visited 
by  its  ghost.  She  amused  herself  on  shipboard  with  a 
thousand  things,  and  a  thousand  thoughts  which  made 
her  feel  the  best  of  "chums"  with  her  new  friend  and 
companion,  Angela  May.  "  I've  come  back  from  twenty- 
three  to  seventeen,"  she  thought,  and  pretended  that  there 
had  never  been  an  Angela  di  Sereno,  that  scornful  young 
person  who  had  forbidden  the  prince  to  come  near  her  on 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  35 

learning  that  there  was  another  whom  he  should  have 
married  instead  of  Millionaire  Merriam's  daughter. 

When  she  was  a  little  girl  in  Boston  (where  Mrs.  Merriam 
had  insisted  upon  living) ,  Angela  used  to  sit  on  her  father's 
knee;  and  as  he  curled  her  yellow  hair  over  his  fingers  he 
wove  romances  of  the  Golden  West,  reluctantly  deserted 
for  his  wife's  sake;  and  though  many  illusions  had  broken 
like  bright  bubbles,  this  ideal  still  glittered  before  Angela's 
eyes.  She  had  been  promised  by  her  father  that  she 
should  visit  California  with  him,  when  "Mother  brought 
her  back  from  Europe";  but  he  had  died,  and  mother 
had  not  brought  her  back;  so  now  she  was  going  to  make 
the  pilgrimage  alone.  Not  only  did  she  intend  to  see  the 
places  her  father  had  described,  but  when  she  had  seen  all 
and  could  choose,  she  meant  to  buy  land  and  make  a 
home  for  herself,  her  first  real  home. 

Wrherever  she  decided  to  live,  the  house  must  be  like 
the  one  where  her  father  had  been  born  —  long  and  low 
built  of  adobe;  there  must  be  a  patio,  with  a  fountain  in 
the  middle;  and  the  rooms  must  be  kept  cool  by  the  roof 
of  a  veranda,  shading  the  windows  like  a  great  over- 
hanging eyelid.  Lovely  flowers  she  would  have,  of  course, 
but  the  garden  must  be  as  unlike  an  Italian  garden  as 
possible.  Italy  was  beautiful,  but  she  did  not  wish  to  be 
reminded  of  that  country,  or  any  other  in  Europe  where 
she  had  wandered  in  search  of  forge tfulness. 

She  had  little  fear  that  ghosts  of  the  past  would  come  to 
haunt  her  in  her  new  home,  for  though  the  Prince  di  Sereno 
had  once  cared  for  her  in  his  way,  she  had  struck  at  his 
pride  and  made  him  hate  her  in  the  end.  At  last  he  had 
been  glad  to  let  her  go  out  of  his  life,  for  she  had  made 


36  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

arrangements  by  which  he  kept  more  than  half  her  money. 
There  was  no  danger  that  he  would  try  to  snatch  her  back 
again;  and  as  for  European  friends  and  acquaintances,  it 
was  unlikely  that  such  worldly  persons  would  care  to 
come  to  the  place  she  meant  to  select.  It  would  be  far 
from  the  paths  of  tourists. 

The  eight-day  voyage  passed  pleasantly  for  Angela. 
She  had  spoken  to  no  one  except  stewards  and  stewardesses 
for,  taking  her  meals  on  deck,  she  had  not  come  into 
contact  with  other  passengers.  The  mourning  she  wore 
for  her  mother,  who  had  died  four  months  before  in  London, 
seemed  to  set  her  apart  from  others,  though  had  it  not 
been  for  the  cause  of  her  mourning,  probably  she  would 
not  now  be  on  her  way  to  America.  It  was  a  few  weeks 
after  Mrs.  Merriam's  death,  when  she  had  recovered 
from  the  shock  which  was  hardly  sorrow,  that  Angela 
said  to  herself:  "Now  she  is  beyond  being  grieved  by 
anything  I  do,  and  I  can  go  away  —  for  good."  For 
the  girl  had  been  under  the  frail  cold  woman's  sway,  as 
the  strong  man,  Franklin  Merriam,  had  been  in  his 
time;  and  Mrs.  Merriam  had  derived  such  pleasure  from 
having  a  daughter  who  was  a  Princess  di  Sereno  that 
Angela  could  hardly  have  found  courage  to  deprive  her 
of  it. 

At  home,  both  in  the  country  and  at  her  palace  in  Rome, 
the  Princess  had  been  waited  on  by  two  French  maids, 
one  of  whom  dressed  her,  while  the  other  kept  her  be- 
longings in  order.  When  she  travelled,  as  she  often  did, 
one  or  both  went  with  her;  to  Egypt;  to  Algeria;  to 
Russia;  to  Paris;  or  to  England.  But " Mrs.  May"  had  no 
maid;  and,  landing  in  New  York,  it  seemed  that  she  was 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  37 

the  only  person  who  did  not  meet  with  a  welcome  from 
friends  on  the  dock. 

Suddenly,  she  ceased  to  enjoy  her  isolation.  For  the 
first  time  since  leaving  Rome  "on  a  long  visit  to  relatives 
in  America"  (according  to  newspaper  paragraphs),  the 
Princess  di  Sereno  did  not  hug  her  loneliness  and  her 
secret.  She  hardly  knew  what  to  do  as  she  stood  under 
the  big  letter  "M"  waiting  to  have  her  luggage  examined. 
Her  fellow  "M's"  as  well  as  all  the  other  letters  appeared 
to  be  having  desperate  trouble  with  the  custom-house 
men,  who  clawed  out  the  contents  of  their  trunks  and 
then  calmly  left  the  cowed  owners  to  stuff  everything  back 
as  best  they  could. 

Angela's  heart  beat  fast  when  her  turn  came,  and  she 
wished  for  long-nosed,  hard- voiced  Josephine  as  a  bulwark; 
but  the  ordeal  was  not  as  bad  as  she  expected.  She  looked 
at  her  inquisitor  with  the  air  of  a  hunted  child  who  had 
got  lost  and  hardly  hoped  ever  to  be  found;  so  the  pro- 
tective instincts  were  aroused,  and  the  wind  was  tempered 
to  the  shorn  lamb.  In  half  an  hour  after  the  ship  had 
docked,  Mrs.  May  was  inquiring  of  a  large,  obliging  Irish- 
man (who  had  a  vast  store  of  knowledge  concerning  all 
useful  subjdects)  how  on  earth  she  was  to  secure  a  cab. 

Her  hotel  was  decided  upon,  and  rooms  engaged.  An 
old  friend  of  Mrs.  Merriam,  a  cosmopolitan  American 
woman,  had  once  praised  the  Hotel  Valmont,  Angela  had 
remembered;  and  driving  from  Twenty-third  Street  up 
into  the  Forties,  New  York  was  almost  as  strange  to  her 
as  if  she  had  never  seen  it  before.  Indeed,  she  had  seen 
little  of  it,  for  the  Merriams  had  lived  in  Boston,  and 
Angela  was  only  eleven  when  she  bade  her  father  and 


38  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

America  good-bye.  How  vividly  that  day  came  back  to 
her  now!  She  could  see  her  father,  and  feel  his  kisses  as 
he  said,  "Never  mind,  little  girl.  When  mother  brings 
you  back  then  we'll  have  the  time  of  our  lives  —  just  you 
and  I  —  hi  California  together." 

But  that  day  did  not  bear  thinking  of.  And,  by  and  by, 
rattling  through  the  bright,  busy  streets,  in  the  vivifying 
sunshine,  she  began  to  feel  happy  again,  as  well  as  very 
young  and  eager. 

"This  is  the  gate  of  my  future,  and  I'm  driving  into  it," 
she  thought. 

The  Hotel  Valmont,  which  Mrs.  Corning  had  said  was 
small,  loomed  imposing  to  Angela's  eyes,  as  her  taxicab 
stopped  before  the  ever-revolving  glass  wheel  of  the  Fifth 
Avenue  door.  The  building  towered  to  a  height  of  sixteen 
or  seventeen  storeys  at  least,  and  appeared  only  a  lesser 
mountain  among  mountains. 

A  polite  man  in  livery  bowed  her  through  the  swift 
whirl  of  the  glass  wheel,  and  she  found  herself  in  a  large 
hall  with  floor  and  walls  of  marble.  Formally  cut  laurel- 
trees  grew  in  huge  pots,  and  the  gilded  ceiling  was  higher 
than  those  of  the  Palazzo  di  Sereno. 

There  were  many  desks,  and  she  explained  to  one  of  a 
dozen  clerks  that  she  was  Mrs.  A.  V.  May,  who  had  cabled 
for  a  bedroom  and  sitting-room. 

She  was  expected,  and  her  suite  was  ready.  Would  she 
kindly  register?  And  the  young  man,  admiring  the  face 
framed  in  gold  hair  and  black  straw,  pushed  forward  a 
ponderous  volume  that  lay  open  on  the  counter.  As 
Angela  pulled  off  her  glove  and  took  the  pen,  she  laid 
down  a  gold  chain-bag  which  she  always  carried  hanging 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  39 

on  her  arm.  Angela  was  used  to  it,  and  she  had  no  idea 
that  it  might  be  considered  ostentatious  in  travelling.  It 
was  convenient  as  well  as  pretty,  which  was  all  she  thought 
of;  nor  did  she  notice  that  several  persons  grouped  near 
the  desks  looked  at  her,  and  at  the  bag,  which  was  edged 
with  diamonds  and  sapphires. 

A  diamond  or  two,  and  a  sapphire  or  two,  sparkled  and 
gleamed  on  her  fingers  as  she  wrote;  but  except  for  her 
rings  and  a  small,  plain  brooch,  she  had  no  jewellery  which 
was  meant  to  show.  Under  the  black  chiffon  of  her  blouse, 
however,  there  was  a  glimmer  of  pearls  which  she  wore 
night  and  day  for  safety. 

"Mrs.  A.  V.  May,"  she  wrote,  then  paused  before  giving 
herself  a  habitation.  Everybody  else  on  the  page  was 
placed  as  well  as  named.  London  was  as  good  a  back- 
ground as  any  for  an  unknown  Mrs.  May,  so  she  provided 
herself  with  it,  and  then,  moving  her  arm  abruptly,  her 
gold  bag  fell  on  the  floor.  Naturally,  a  man  who  had  been 
leaning  on  the  counter,  looking  at  Angela,  sprang  to  pick 
it  up.  But  another  man  was  before  him.  Pulling  off  a 
wide-brimmed  gray  hat  which  had  been  pushed  to  the 
back  of  his  head,  he  held  out  the  gold  bag  a  little  awk- 
wardly. 

"I  guess  you  dropped  this,  lady,"  he  said. 

Angela  was  on  the  point  of  laughing.  She  was  used  to 
dropping  her  bag  a  dozen  times  a  day,  and  having  some  one 
pick  it  up  for  her,  but  it  had  been  funny  to  see  it  snapped 
away  by  this  tall,  oddly  clad  fellow,  from  under  the 
dapper  gentleman's  rather  sharp  nose.  Of  course,  she  did 
not  laugh,  but  smiled  gratefully  instead,  and  she  could 
not  help  staring  a  little  at  the  retriever  of  her  lost  property.. 


40  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

So,  also,  did  the  other  and  smaller  man  stare.  This  person 
was  well  dressed,  and  had  a  slight,  pointed  moustache,  like 
a  German  officer's. 

"  Yes.  It's  mine.  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Angela. 
And  she  thought:  "What  an  extraordinary -looking  man. 
But  how  handsome !  He  might  be  dressed  for  a  play  — 
only,  somehow,  he  doesn't  look  like  an  actor.  Whatever 
he  is,  he's  the  real  thing." 

The  wide  gray  sombrero  remained  in  the  young  man's 
hand.  He  was  so  tall  that  he  made  most  of  those  standing 
near  look  insignificant.  Yet  they,  on  the  other  hand,  made 
him  conspicuous. 

It  was  a  long  way  up  to  his  face,  but  when  Angela's  eyes 
had  climbed  to  that  height,  she  saw  that  it  was  attractive, 
and  the  eyes  splendid,  even  compelling,  so  that  it  was 
difficult  to  remove  hers  at  once  and  discreetly  from  their 
influence. 

The  type  of  man  was  new  to  her,  and  the  look  which  he 
gave  her  was  new,  somehow.  His  was  a  wild,  uncivilized 
kind  of  handsomeness,  she  thought,  like  that  of  a  noble, 
untamed  creature  of  the  forest,  changed  by  enchantment 
into  a  man  and  thrust  into  modern  clothes.  Yet  the  look 
he  gave  her  was  not  uncivilized,  only  surprised,  rather 
boyish,  and  as  if  the  brilliant  eyes  had  suddenly  lit  upon 
something  good  which  they  had  been  seeking.  Very  odd, 
and  a  little  exciting,  Angela  found  the  look. 

If  the  young  man's  clothes  were  modern,  they  were  far 
from  being  fashionable;  not  at  all  the  sort  of  clothes  to 
suit  the  background  of  a  marble  hall  in  a  New  York  hotel. 
His  shirt  was  of  some  soft  white  material  which  did  not 
seem  to  be  starched,  and  a  low  collar  was  turned  down 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  41 

over  a  black,  loosely  tied  cravat  like  a  sailor's.  Instead 
of  a  waistcoat  he  wore  a  leather  belt,  of  the  sort  in  which 
one  would  quite  expect  to  see  a  knife  or  revolver  sticking 
out.  His  blue  serge  suit  w^s  of  a  country  cut,  the  trousers 
rather  short  and  tight  for  the  long,  straight  legs;  and  the 
shoes  were  wide  in  the  toe,  thick  in  the  sole. 

All  these  details  Angela  noted  in  one  quick  glance;  and 
admiring  the  tall  brown  eccentricity  as  she  might  have 
admired  a  fine  bronze  statue  out  of  place,  in  the  wrong 
surroundings,  she  wondered  from  what  sort  of  niche  the 
statue  had  transplanted  itself.  In  her  mind  there  was  no 
room  whatever  for  the  little  man  with  the  pointed  mous- 
tache, so  she  forgot  his  existence. 

"Mighty  pleased  to  —  do  any  service  for  you,  lady," 
stammered  the  bronze  statue,  and  though  his  voice  was 
pleasant,  it  had  not  the  cultured  accent  to  which  Angela 
was  accustomed.  Besides,  it  was  quaint  to  be  addressed 
as  "lady."  London  cabbies  and  beggars  called  one 
"lidy";  but  they  were  a  law  unto  themselves.  Still  it 
sounded  rather  nice  as  he  said  it:  "pleased  to  do  any 
service  for  you,  lady." 

She  nodded  politely  as  she  moved  away,  following  the 
bellboy  who  had  the  key  of  her  rooms,  and  as  she  reached 
the  lift,  something  made  her  glance  back.  The  sombrero 
was  on  the  dark  head  again,  and  the  head  was  bent  over 
the  hotel  register,  where  Mrs.  May  had  written  her  name. 
The  man  was  either  looking  at  that  or  writing  his  own. 
Angela  inclined  to  the  latter  supposition.  Probably  this 
wild  creature  of  forests  had  just  arrived  in  New  York 
from  somewhere  very  far  away,  perhaps  from  her  father's 
Golden  West,  the  country  of  the  sun.  As  the  lift  flashed 


42  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

her  with  horrifying  swiftness  up  to  the  twelfth  floor,  she 
still  seemed  to  hear  the  echo  of  the  pleasant  voice,  saying 
"  Pleased  to  do  any  service  for  you,  lady."  A  few  minutes 
later,  however,  she  forgot  the  incident  of  the  dropped  bag 
in  admiring  her  pretty  suite  of  white  and  green  rooms,  the 
bath,  and  the  cedar-lined  wardrobes  in  the  wall,  which 
she  remembered  as  typically  American.  She  felt  like  a 
child  examining  a  new  playhouse.  Suddenly  she  was  sure 
that  she  would  get  on  well  with  Americans,  that  she 
would  like  them,  and  they  her,  though  until  to-day  she 
had  been  afraid  that  her  country-people,  in  their  own 
land,  would  seem  to  her  like  strangers.  Although  she  had 
not  made  up  her  mind  how  long  she  would  stay  in  New 
York  before  going  West,  she  unpacked  a  great  many 
things  without  stopping  to  think  that  perhaps  she  was 
giving  herself  useless  trouble.  Then,  wiien  she  had 
scattered  quantities  of  dresses,  petticoats,  hats,  and  cloaks 
in  both  rooms,  she  paused  bewildered.  Everything  she 
had  taken  out  on  shipboard  looked  wrinkled  and  rather 
haggard.  She  wished,  after  all,  that  she  had  brought 
Josephine,  though  she  had  not  been  fond  of  her,  or  of  the 
others.  She  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  the  things,  and 
never  could  she  get  them  all  back  again  when  it  should  be 
time  to  leave  the  hotel !  It  was  as  Josephine  had  proph- 
esied. How  the  Frenchwoman  would  enjoy  saying,  "It 
is  as  I  warned  Madame  la  Princesse!" 

"Perhaps  a  servant  of  the  hotel  would  help  me,"  she 
thought;  and  a  call  through  the  telephone  brought  to  the 
door  a  tall,  dark,  Irish  girl,  who  would  have  been  pretty  if 
her  eyes  and  cheeks  had  not  been  stained  with  crying. 
At  first  glance  Angela  was  interested,  for  she  was  beginning 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  43 

to  be  happy,  and  could  not  bear  to  think  that  any  one  who 
came  near  her  was  miserable.  At  all  times,  too,  she  had 
quick  sympathies,  and  could  read  the  secrets  of  sad  or 
happy  eyes  in  a  flash,  as  she  passed  them  in  the  street, 
though  less  sensitive  persons  saw  nothing  noteworthy; 
and  often  she  longed  to  hurry  back  to  some  stranger,  as  if 
a  voice  had  cried  after  her  which  she  could  not  let  cry  in 
vain.  Now,  as  she  talked  to  the  maid  about  the  unpack- 
ing, unspoken  sympathy  went  out  from  her  in  a  magnetic 
current  which  the  Irish  girl  felt.  Her  tear-blurred  blue 
eyes  fixed  themselves  on  the  young  lady  in  black,  and  she 
had  a  strong,  exciting  impression  that  some  blessing 
hovered  near  her,  which  she  could  take  hold  of  if  only  she 
had  courage. 

"  Indeed,  miss,  I'll  love  to  help  you,"  she  said.  "  'Twill 
be  a  rale  pleasure  —  and  not  many  comes  my  way,  these 
days." 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,"  Angela  told  her.  "Perhaps 
you're  homesick.  I  think  you  must  have  come  not  long 
ago  from  a  green  island  which  every  one  loves." 

"You're  right,  miss."  The  Irish  eyes  brimmed  over. 
"And  I'm  homesick  enough  to  die,  but  not  so  much 
fur  Oireland,  as  fur  a  place  I  niver  set  eyes  on." 

Angela  was  interested.  "You're  homesick  for  a  place 
you  never  set  eyes  on?  Then  some  one  you  love  must  be 
there." 

This  time  the  tears  could  not  be  kept  back.  The  young 
woman  had  begun  her  work  of  gathering  up  Angela's 
belongings,  and  lest  the  tears  should  fall  on  a  lace  night- 
gown she  was  folding,  she  laid  it  on  a  chair,  to  search 
wildly  for  her  handkerchief.  "Do  excuse  me,  if  ye  can, 


44  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

miss,"  she  choked.  "I've  no  right  to  make  a  fool  o' 
meself  in  front  of  you,  but  you're  that  kind,  I  got  filled  up 
like.  It's  the  State  of  Oregon  I'm  thinkin'  of,  for  the 
man  I  crossed  the  say  to  marry  is  there,  and  now  I  don't 
know  when  we  shall  ever  see  one  another." 

" Oregon's  a  long  way  off,"  said  Angela.  "  I  know  that, 
though  I've  lived  in  Europe  most  of  my  life.  Only  the 
other  day  I  looked  at  it  on  the  map." 

"Have  ye  got  that  map  by  you,  miss?" 

"Yes.  We'll  find  it  presently,  in  this  mass  of  books  in 
my  cabin  trunk.  But  I  was  going  to  say,  though  Oregon's 
ever  so  far  West,  the  man  you  came  from  Ireland  to  marry 
will  surely  send  for  you.  Then  how  happy  you'll  be,  by 
and  by." 

"A  long  by  and  by,  I'm  afraid,  miss." 

"Oh,  why?  Isn't  there  money  enough?"  Angela 
began  to  plan  how  she  might  make  the  course  of  true  love 
run  smooth;  though  in  these  days  she  was  not  as  rich  as 
she  had  been. 

"There  was,  to  begin  with,*'  the  girl  answered.  "You 
see,  miss,  he  sent  for  me  to  meet  him  in  New  York,  and 
'twas  he  paid  me  way  over.  He'd  bought  land  in  Oregon, 
and  irritated  it,  as  they  calls  it  —  and  was  doin'  wonderful. 
The  idea  was  he  should  meet  me  at  the  ship,  and  we'd  get 
married  and  go  West,  man  and  wife.  But  his  partner 
cheated  him  out  of  his  eyes,  and  the  trick  only  come  out 
when  I  was  on  the  water.  So  instead  o'  findin'  me  Tim 
I  found  a  letter.  The  poor  boy's  had  to  start  all  over 
again;  and  I  tuk  service,  waitin'  till  he  can  scrape  up  the 
money  to  fetch  me  out." 

"I  may  be  going  quite  near  Oregon  myself  before  long," 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  45 

said  Angela  impulsively.  "Do  you  think  you  could  learn 
to  be  my  maid,  and  would  you  like  to  go  with  me?  " 

"Like  it!"  the  girl  echoed,  turning  white  and  then  red. 
"  'Twould  be  heaven.  I'm  not  too  happy  here.  The 
housekeeper's  got  a  'clow'  on  me.  And  indade,  I've 
done  a  bit  of  maidin'  to  a  lady  in  the  ould  country.  I'd 
work  early  and  late  to  please  ye,  miss!" 

"  I  feel  sure  you  would,"  Angela  said.  "  But  you  know, 
if  you're  going  to  be  my  maid,  you  must  give  up  calling 
me  'miss,'  for  I  am  —  Mrs.  May." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure,  ma'am.  But  'twas 
because  ye  look  so  young,  it  never  entered  me  head  ye 
could  be  married,  and  perhaps  even  a  widow." 

Angela  did  not  speak,  and  at  once  the  girl  made  sure 
that  she  had  hit  upon  the  truth  with  her  last  words.  The 
lovely  lady  was  in  black  for  her  husband,  to  whom  she 
must  have  been  married  when  almost  a  child.  "My 
name's  Kate  McGinnis,  ma'am,"  she  went  quickly  on, 
"and  though  I've  got  no  recommendations  in  writin', 
because  I  thought  to  take  a  husband  and  not  service,  I 
can  get  a  good  word  from  the  priest,  and 

"Your  face  tells  me  enough,"  Angela  broke  in.  "I 
know  you're  a  good  girl,  and  that  you'll  be  a  comfort  to 
me  on  the  journey.  But  if  you  go,  you  mustn't  expect  to 
get  out  to  Oregon  immediately.  I  mean  to  travel  to 
California,  and  I  should  like  you  to  stay  with  me  until  I 
settle  somewhere.  Then  I'll  send  you  to  the  place  where 
your  fianci  lives." 

"That's  what  I'd  like  best  of  anything,"  exclaimed 
Kate.  "Tim  ain't  ready  yet,  but  he  will  be  soon  —  now 
the  worry  about  payin'  the  big  price  of  me  railway  ticket 


4G  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

will  be  off  our  minds.  Oh,  but  doesn't  it  seem  too  good  to 
be  true?" 

"Why  not  say  too  good  not  to  be  true?"  asked  Angela, 
whose  optimism  to-day  was  ready  to  triumph  over  past 
stumbling-blocks.  "It's  settled,  then  —  if  the  hotel  will 
let  you  off." 

"I've  giv'  in  me  notice,  miss  —  madam,  I  mean,"  replied 
the  girl  hastily.  "There's  some  things  I  don't  think  Tim 
would  like  about  me  bein'  in  a  hotel,  and  I  was  lookin'  out 
for  a  private  place.  Me  time's  up  here  day  after  to- 
morrow. But,  oh,  ma'am,  there's  a  thing  I  haven't  told 
ye  —  indade,  'twas  because  I  forgot,  not  that  I  meant  to 
desave.  Maybe,  when  ye  know  what  it  is  ye'll  change  yer 
mind  about  havin'  me  —  and  I  couldn't  blame  ye." 

Angela's  clear  eyes  looked  full  into  the  clear  eyes  of  the 
Irish  girl.  "I  don't  believe  you  can  have  anything  to  tell 
me  which  will  make  me  want  not  to  have  you.  Is  it 
serious?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  very  serious."  Kate  paused,  swallowing 
heavily.  "It's  —  it's  a  cat." 

"A  cat!"  Angela  burst  out  laughing.  "How  can  a 
cat  come  between  us?" 

"A  black  cat,  ma'am  named  Timmy  after  me  own  Tim, 
who  give  him  to  me,  a  kitten,  three  years  ago,  before  he 
left  the  ould  country.  I  promised  be  this  and  be  that  I'd 
niver  part  with  the  crature  till  Tim  and  me  was  made 
wan,  and  I  niver  have.  Neither  will  I,  if  I  have  to  starve. 
But  I  pay  fur  his  kape  in  the  hotel,  out  o'  me  wages,  as  if 
he  was  a  Christian,  and  so  he  is,  pretty  near.  There's 
nothin'  he  doesn't  know;  but  I  don't  suppose  ye'd  allow 
him  to  travel  in  the  trains  —  and  I  couldn't  lave  him." 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  47 

To  have  a  travelling  cat,  and  a  maid  named  McGinnis! 
The  idea  was  preposterous,  but  Angela  was  in  a  mood  to 
do  preposterous  things,  and  enjoy  doing  them.  "I  like 
you  for  your  loyalty,"  she  said,  "and  I  shall  like  Timmy, 
too.  Cats  are  misunderstood  people.  They  can  be  splen- 
did friends.  And  black  cats  are  supposed  to  bring  luck." 

"  I  should  love  to  have  Timmy  bring  you  some,  ma'am," 
said  Kate.  "  Not  that  ye  need  it,  of  course." 

"But  I  do,"  Angela  answered.  "As  for  you,  I  shall  call 
you  by  your  first  name.  Kate,  as  if  you  were  a  French 
maid.  I  like  it  better  than  McGinnis." 

"Thank  you,  so  do  I,  ma'am.  But  it's  me  Tim  has  the 
fine  name,  which  he'll  give  me  when  the  right  time  comes. 
It's  Moriarty,  and  to  my  mind  there's  none  with  more 
music  in  it.  Oh,  if  ye  only  knew  how  happy  ye've  made 
me !  I  was  afraid  me  name  would  be  as  black  in  yer  eyes 
as  the  cat,  so  that's  why  I  broke  it  to  ye  gently,  and  now 
I'm  rewarded  for  everything." 

Angela  laughed  again.  "I  fancied  I  was  all  alone  in 
the  world,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and  here  I  am  collecting 
a  family." 

She  had  luncheon  brought  to  her  own  sitting-room, 
when  Kate  had  put  away  everything  and  gone.  Quantities 
of  flowers  she  ordered,  too — American  Beauty  roses,  which 
looked  extraordinarily  intelligent  and  cpmpanionable,  she 
thought.  Then,  most  of  the  afternoon  she  spent  in  poring 
over  maps,  planning  what  she  called  her  "pilgrimage"; 
and  a  little  before  six  she  was  ready  to  go  down  and  buy 
her  ticket  West,  at  the  travel  bureau  which,  she  heard, 
existed  in  the  hotel.  Afterward  she  meant  to  take  a 
stroll,  and  see  Fifth  Avenue  by  sunset. 


48  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Not  once  since  entering  her  rooms  had  she  consciously 
remembered  the  "bronze  statue."  In  the  marble  hall, 
however,  she  recalled  him,  and  thought  most  likely  he  was 
out  amusing  himself  and  seeing  New  York.  But  no; 
there  he  was,  sitting  rather  dejectedly  in  a  large  rocking- 
chair;  and  as  her  eyes  found  him,  his  found  her.  Instantly 
his  whole  aspect  changed.  The  statue  came  to  life.  His 
listless  expression  brightened  to  the  puzzling  intentness 
with  which  he  had  looked  at  her  in  the  morning.  As  she 
passed  near  him,  on  her  way  to  the  travel  bureau,  he  got 
up  and  stood  like  a  soldier  at  attention.  Seeing  this 
Angela  went  by  quickly  without  seeming  to  glance  at 
him,  for  she  was  afraid  that  he  meant  to  speak,  and  she 
hoped  that  he  would  not,  for  she  did  not  want  to  snub 
him.  She  need  not  have  feared,  however.  He  made  no 
sign,  but  looked  at  her  as  if  she  were  a  passing  queen,  for 
whom  it  was  a  man's  duty  and  pleasure  to  get  to  his  feet. 

Angela  would  have  bowed  in  recognition  of  the  morn- 
ing's courtesy,  but  dared  not,  lest  after  all  he  should  be 
encouraged  to  speak;  for  his  type  was  so  new  to  her  that 
she  did  not  understand  it  in  the  least.  It  was,  however, 
rather  an  agreeable  mystery,  and  she  saw  him  feature  by 
feature,  without  appearing  to  lift  her  eyes.  It  was  too 
bad  that  he  had  been  foolish  enough  to  discard  his  be- 
coming costume  of  the  morning  for  a  conventional  suit  of 
clothes,  which,  it  was  painfully  certain,  he  must  have 
bought  ready-made.  The  things  did  not  fit  too  well, 
though  they  had  probably  cost  a  good  deal,  and  they  were 
astonishingly  like  advertisements  of  men's  clothes  which 
Angela  had  seen  in  American  magazines  on  shipboard. 
They  did  their  best  to  give  him  his  money's  worth,  by 


A  GIRL  IN  MOURNING  49 

spoiling  his  splendid  looks  and  turning  him  into  something 
different  from  what  nature  had  intended.  His  broad 
shoulders  were  increased  in  size  by  the  padded  cutaway 
coat,  until  they  seemed  out  of  proportion.  His  collar 
was  an  inch  too  high,  and  he  was  evidently  wretched  in  it. 
Also  he  had  the  look  in  his  eyes  of  a  man  whose  boots  are  so 
tight  that  he  wishes  to  die.  His  fancy  waistcoat  and  ma- 
roon necktie  must  have  been  forced  upon  him  by  a  ruthless 
salesman  who  would  stop  at  no  crime  in  the  way  of  trade, 
and  the  consciousness  of  these  atrocities  and  the  large- 
ness of  his  scarf-pin  had  reduced  the  poor  fellow  to  the 
depths  of  gloom.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  pair  of  yellowish 
kid  gloves  which  hung  limp  and  feeble,  like  the  dead 
bodies  of  small  animals,  and  on  the  floor  near  his  feet,  as 
if  drawing  attention  to  the  brilliance  of  his  patent-leather 
shoes,  was  the  latest  extravagance  in  silk  hats. 

"My  spoilt  statue!"  Angela  thought.  "I  believe  he 
is  as  sorry  for  himself  as  I  am  for  him.  Who  knows, 
though?  Perhaps  I'm  mistaken,  and  he's  as  proud  as 
Punch.  In  that  case,  I  give  him  up!" 

But  she  would  not  have  believed  any  one  who  had  told 
her  that  she,  and  she  alone,  was  the  cause  of  the  tragic 
change.  He  had  wished  to  appear  well  in  her  eyes,  and 
had  gone  about  it  in  the  way  that  seemed  best. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  NIGHT 

WALKING  down  Fifth  Avenue,  after  buying  tickets 
via  Washington  and  New  Orleans  to  Los  Angeles,  "  Mrs. 
May"  happened  to  see  a  poster  advertising  a  recital  by  a 
violinist  she  had  always  contrived  to  miss.  At  once  she 
decided  to  go;  and  as  it  was  for  that  night,  there  was  just 
time  to  hurry  back  to  the  hotel,  dine,  and  dress.  She  was 
lucky  enough  to  get  a  box,  hi  which  she  sat  hidden  behind 
curtains,  and  the  evening  would  have  been  a  success  if  the 
carriage  ordered  to  take  her  home  had  not  been  delayed 
by  a  slight  accident.  She  had  to  wait  for  it,  and  was  much 
later  than  she  had  expected  to  be  in  getting  back  to  the 
hotel.  Theatres  were  over;  suppers  were  being  eaten  in 
the  Louis  Seize  restaurant,  into  which  Angela  could  see  as 
she  got  into  the  lift;  and  upstairs  shoes  had  already  been 
put  outside  bedroom  doors.  In  front  of  the  one  next  her 
own,  she  saw  two  pairs  which  made  her  smile  a  little,  for, 
though  she  could  not  be  certain,  she  fancied  that  she  rec- 
ognized them.  One  pair  was  stout,  unfashionable,  made 
for  country  wear;  the  other  looked  several  sizes  smaller, 
glittered  with  the  uncompromising  newness  of  patent 
leather,  and  was  ultra  "smart "  in  shape. 

"Poor  statue!"  she  said  to  herself.  "If  they're  his, 
how  dreadfully  the  new  ones  must  have  hurt  him!" 

50 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  NIGHT"         51 

Then  she  went  into  her  own  room,  where  Kate  presently 
came  to  undress  her  with  affectionate  if  inexperienced 
hands. 

Angela  was  still  excited  by  all  the  events  of  the  day, 
her  first  in  her  own  country  since  childhood,  and  fancied 
that  she  would  not  be  able  to  sleep.  But  soon  she  forgot 
everything  and  lay  dead  to  the  world,  very  still,  very  white 
in  the  light  that  stole  through  the  window,  very  beautiful, 
drowned  in  the  waves  of  her  hair.  Then,  at  last,  she  began 
to  dream  of  Italy;  that  she  was  there;  that  she  had  never 
come  away;  and  that  there  was  no  escape.  She  moaned 
faintly  in  her  sleep,  and  roused  herself  enough  to  know 
that  she  was  dreaming;  tried  to  wake  and  succeeded, 
breathing  hard  after  her  fight  to  conquer  the  dream. 

"It's  not  true!"  she  told  herself,  pressing  her  face 
caressingly  against  the  pillow  because  it  was  an  American 
pillow,  not  an  Italian  one  in  the  Palazzo  di  Sereno,  and 
because  it  made  her  feel  safe. 

So  she  lay  for  a  minute  or  two,  comforting  herself  with 
the  thought  that  all  bad  and  frightening  things  were  left 
behind  in  the  past,  with  a  door,  double-locked  by  a  golden 
key,  shut  forever  between  it  and  her.  Nothing  disagree- 
able could  happen  now.  And  she  was  falling  asleep  once 
more,  when  a  slight  noise  made  her  heart  jump.  Then 
she  and  her  heart  both  kept  very  still,  for  it  seemed  that 
the  noise  was  in  the  room,  not  far  from  her  bed. 

It  came  again,  and  Angela  realized  that  it  was  at  one  of 
the  two  windows,  both  of  which  were  open. 

At  her  request,  Kate  had  pulled  the  dark  blinds  half- 
way up,  and  Angela  would  have  laughed  at  the  suggestion 
that  a  thief  could  creep  into  a  room  on  the  twelfth  story. 


52  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Nevertheless,  the  night  glow  of  the  great  city  silhouetted 
the  figure  of  a  man  black  against  the  shining  of  the  half- 
raised  window-panes.  It  was  kneeling  on  the  wide  stone 
sill  outside,  and  slowly,  with  infinite  caution,  was  pushing 
the  heavy  window-sash  up  higher,  so  that  it  might  be 
possible  to  crawl  underneath  and  slip  into  the  room. 

As  she  stared,  incredulous  at  first,  then  driven  to  believe, 
Angela  guessed  how  the  seeming  miracle  had  been  per- 
formed. The  man  had  crept  along  the  cornice  which 
belted  the  wall,  on  a  level  a  few  feet  lower  than  the  line 
of  the  window-sills.  She  remembered  noticing  this  as  one 
suddenly  recalls  some  forgotten  detail  in  a  photograph.  A 
clever  thief  might  make  the  perilous  passage,  helping  him- 
self along  by  one  window-sill  after  another  until  he  reached 
the  one  he  wanted. 

Angela  turned  sick,  her  first  thought  being  of  the  im- 
mense drop  from  her  window  to  the  ground.  "  If  he  should 
fall!"  were  the  words  that  sprang  to  her  lips.  Then  she 
remembered  that  it  would  be  better  for  her  if  he  should 
fall.  He  meant  to  rob  and  perhaps  to  murder  her.  She 
ought  to  wish  that  he  might  slip.  But  she  seemed  to  hear 
a  crash,  to  see  a  sight  of  horror,  and  could  not  make  the 
wish. 

She  lay  motionless,  her  thoughts  confused  by  the  knock- 
ing of  her  heart.  If  she  jumped  out  of  bed  and  ran  across 
the  room  to  the  telephone,  the  man  could  see  her.  Then, 
knowing  that  she  was  awake,  and  caution  on  his  part 
unnecessary,  he  would  fling  up  the  window,  jump  in, 
and  choke  her  into  silence. 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  asked  herself.  In  two  or  three 
minutes  more  the  slow,  stealthy  lifting  of  the  window- 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  NIGHT         53 

sash  would  be  finished,  and  the  thief  would  be  in  the 
room. 

Her  rings,  and  her  gold  bag  with  a  good  deal  of  money 
in  it,  lay  on  the  dressing-table.  If  only  he  would  be 
satisfied  with  these,  she  might  lie  still  and  let  him  act; 
but  her  watch  was  under  the  pillow,  and  her  pearls  were 
round  her  throat.  The  pearls  were  worth  far  more  than 
the  bag,  and  the  black  shadow  out  there  must  know  that 
she  had  many  things  worth  taking,  or  it  would  not  be  at 
her  window  now. 

"What  can  I  do?" 

Suddenly  she  thought  of  a  thing  she  could  do;  and 
without  stopping  to  ask  whether  there  were  something  else 
better,  she  leaned  out  of  bed  and  knocked  on  the  door 
between  her  room  and  the  next.  The  door  was  fastened, 
but,  rapping  with  one  hand,  with  the  other  she  slipped 
back  the  bolt.  "  Quick  —  quick  —  help ! "  she  called.  "A 
thief  is  getting  in  at  my  window." 

There  was  a  faint  click,  the  switching  on  of  electric 
light,  the  swift  pushing  back  of  a  bolt,  and  the  door  flew 
open.  The  shoes  she  had  seen  in  the  hall  had  told  her  the 
truth.  It  was  the  man  she  expected  who  stood  for  the 
fifth  part  of  a  second  in  the  doorway  of  her  darkened 
room,  then,  lithe  and  noiseless  as  an  Indian,  made  for  the 
window.  The  thief  was  taken  completely  by  surprise. 
When  Angela  suddenly  cried  out,  he  had  been  in  the 
act  of  letting  himself  down  to  the  floor,  by  slipping  under 
the  window-sash,  raised  just  high  enough  for  him  to 
squeeze  through.  He  had  half  turned  on  the  wide  ledge, 
so  as  to  get  his  legs  through  first  and  land  on  his  knees; 
therefore,  he  was  seized  at  a  disadvantage.  The  most 


54  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

agile  gymnast  could  not  have  pulled  himself  back  from 
under  the  window-frame,  balanced  his  body  steadily  again 
on  the  stone  ledge  outside,  and  have  begun  to  crawl  away 
toward  safety,  all  in  those  few  seconds  before  the  cry  and 
its  answer.  He  did  his  snaky,  practised  best,  but  it  was 
not  quite  good  enough.  The  man  from  the  next  room  was 
too  quick  for  him,  and  he  was  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. 

Angela  sat  up  in  bed,  watching.  The  thing  did  not  seem 
real  at  all.  It  was  but  a  scene  in  a  play;  the  black  figure, 
dragged  along  the  floor  like  a  parcel,  then  jerked  to  its 
feet  to  have  both  arms  pinioned  behind  its  back;  and  in 
a  brief  moment,  with  scarce  a  sound.  The  light  from  the 
next  room  let  her  see  the  two  men  clearly:  the  tall  one 
in  pajamas,  as  he  must  have  sprung  out  of  bed  at  her  call: 
the  little  one  in  black,  with  a  mask  of  crape  or  some  thin 
material  over  the  upper  part  of  his  face.  Now,  in  the 
silent  struggle,  the  mask  had  become  disarranged,  to  show 
a  small,  light,  pointed  moustache.  She  recognized  it, 
and  knew  in  an  instant  why  she  had  been  thought  worth 
robbing.  This  was  the  creature  who  had  tried  to  pick  up 
her  gold  bag;  he  had  seen  her  rings,  and  perhaps  had 
spied  the  pearls. 

"Take  care!"  she  gasped  a  warning.  "He  may  have 
a  revolver!"  As  she  spoke,  she  sank  back  on  the  pillows, 
feeling  suddenly  limp  and  powerless,  as  she  lay  drowned 
in  the  long  waves  of  hair  that  flowed  round  her  like  moon- 
light. 

"The  little  sneak  won't  get  to  draw  it  if  he  has,"  said 
the  tall  man,  in  a  tone  so  quiet  that  Angela  was  struck 
with  surprise.  It  seemed  wonderful  that  one  who  had  just 
fought  as  he  had  could  have  kept  control  of  breath  and 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  NIGHT         55 

head.  His  voice  did  not  even  sound  excited,  though  hers 
was  trembling.  "Don't  be  scared,"  he  went  on.  "The 
mean  galoot!  A  prairie-dog  could  tear  him  to  pieces." 

"I'm  not  frightened  —  now,"  she  answered.  "Oh, 
thank  you  for  coming.  You've  saved  my  life.  Can't  I 
help?  I  might  go  to  the  telephone  and  call " 

"No.  Do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  her  neighbour  com- 
manded. "There  must  be  no  ructions  in  your  room. 
I'm  going  to  take  this  thing  to  my  quarters.  The  story'll 
be,  he  was  getting  into  my  window  when  I  waked  up  and 
nabbed  him." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Angela,  roused  to  understanding  and 
appreciation.  "  For  me,  that  would  be  good  —  but  for 

you " 

"For  me,  it's  all  right,  too.  And  you  don't  come  on 
in  this  act,  lady." 

"He'll  tell,"  she  said. 

"I  guess  not.  Not  unless  he's  in  a  hurry  to  see  what 
it's  like  down  where  he  goes  next.  If  he  so  much  as  peeps 
while  I'm  in  reach,  I'll  shake  him  till  his  spine  sticks  out 
of  his  head  like  a  telegraph-pole.  Or  if  he  waits  till  he 
thinks  I  can't  get  at  him,  I'll  scatter  him  over  the  landscape 
with  my  gun,  if  I  fire  across  a  court-room.  He  sees  I'm 
the  kind  of  man  to  keep  my  word."  These  threats  were 
uttered  in  the  same  quiet  voice,  and  the  speaker  went  on 
in  a  different  tone,  "I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do,  lady,  if 
you  don't  mind.  I  hate  to  trouble  you;  but  maybe 
'twould  be  best  for  me  not  to  try  it  with  one  hand,  and  him 
in  the  other.  If  you'd  slip  into  my  room  and  push  up  the 
window  nearest  this  way  a  few  inches  higher,  it  would  bear 
me  out  better  when  I  say  he  came  through  there." 


56  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Angela  sat  up  again,  and  reached  out  for  her  white  silk 
dressing-gown,  which  lay  across  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
Wrapping  it  hastily  round  her,  she  ran  into  her  neigh- 
bour's room.  As  she  flashed  by  him,  where  he  stood 
holding  his  captive,  he  thought  more  and  more  of  his  angel 
vision  with  the  moonlight  hair,  and  it  seemed  a  strange, 
almost  miraculous  coincidence  that  he  should  behold  it  in 
real  life,  after  describing  his  dreams  to  Carmen  Gaylor. 

"The  nearest  window,"  Angela  repeated,  respecting 
the  man's  shrewdness  and  presence  of  mind.  The  nearest 
•window  was  the  one  to  open,  because  the  thief  had  come 
•crawling  along  in  that  direction  on  the  cornice,  and  soon 
it  would  be  found  out  which  room  he  had  occupied,  since 
ihe  must  be  staying  in  the  hotel. 

She  pushed  up  the  heavy  sash,  already  raised  some 
inches,  and  turning,  saw  that  the  silent,  sulky  prisoner 
had  been  dragged  in  by  her  champion. 

"Thank  you,  lady,"  said  the  latter,  briskly.  "Now, 
you  just  go  back  to  sleep  and  forget  this  —  cut  it  out. 
The  rest's  my  business." 

"But  —  how  can  I  let  you  have  all  this  trouble  on  your 
shoulders?"  stammered  Angela.  "You'll  have  to  bear 
witness  against  him.  There'll  be  a  trial  or  something. 
You  may  be  delayed,  kept  from  doing  things  you  want 
to  do " 

"You  can  sure  bet  there's  nothing  on  God's  earth  I 
want  to  do  so  much  as  keep  a  lady  out  of  this  business," 
her  neighbour  assured  her.  "Now  go  back  to  your  room, 
please,  and  lock  your  door." 

Their  eyes  met,  and  Angela  felt  herself  thrill  with 
admiration  of  this  new  type  which  had  set  her  wonder- 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  NIGHT         57 

ing.  The  forest  creature  turned  into  a  man,  was  a  man 
indeed! 

"Good  night,  then,"  she  said.  "I  can't  thank  you 
enough  —  for  everything." 

She  flitted  away,  her  small  bare  feet  showing  white  and 
pink  under  the  lace  of  night-dress  and  dressing-gown. 
She  locked  her  door  obediently,  as  she  had  been  told,  but 
she  did  not  go  back  to  bed,  or  try  to  forget.  There  was  a 
big  easy  chair  not  far  from  the  door  she  had  just  closed, 
and  she  subsided  into  it,  limply,  realizing  that  she  had  gone 
through  a  strenuous  experience.  Huddled  there,  a  minute 
later  she  heard  her  neighbour's  voice  speaking  through 
the  telephone,  and  was  consumed  with  curiosity  as  to  how 
he  was  keeping  the  wriggling  prisoner  quiet. 

"He  must  have  contrived  to  tie  the  wretch  somehow," 
she  told  herself.  "Or  perhaps  he's  strong  enough  to  hold 
him  with  one  hand.  He's  the  sort  of  man  who  would 
always  think  of  an  expedient  and  know  how  to  carry  it 
out." 

It  seemed  dreamlike,  that  such  a  scene  as  her  imagination 
pictured  was  really  passing  in  the  next  room,  where  all  was 
so  quiet  save  for  the  calm  voice  talking  at  the  telephone, 
and  Angela  could  not  help  listening  anxiously,  hoping  to- 
catch  a  few  words. 

After  the  first  murmur  at  the  telephone,  through  the 
thick  mahogany  door,  there  fell  a  silence  more  exciting  to 
the  listener  than  the  indistinct  sounds  had  been.  Then 
suddenly  there  was  a  stirring,  and  the  mumble  of  several 
heavy,  hushed  voices.  After  that,  dead  silence  again, 
which  remained  unbroken.  Evidently  the  police  had  been 
sent  for;  had  come;  had  listened  to  the  story  of  the 


58  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

attempted  theft  as  told  by  the  thief's  captor.  Angela 
was  sure  his  version  had  not  been  contradicted,  or  she 
would  certainly  have  heard  a  shot.  The  forest  creature 
would  have  kept  his  word !  But  he  had  not  been  tempted; 
and  the  thief  had  been  carried  away.  Angela  wondered 
whether  her  neighbour  had  gone  too  —  or  whether  he 
remained  in  the  next  room,  taking  his  own  advice  to  her, 
and  "trying  to  forget."  She  would  not  be  surprised  if  he 
were  able  to  sleep  quite  calmly. 


VI 
WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED 

NEXT  morning  Angela  said  nothing  to  Kate  of  what 
had  happened  in  the  night.  Her  thoughts  were  full 
of  the  affair,  but  since  the  true  version  was  to  be  sup- 
pressed, it  would  be  better  to  have  no  confidant.  She 
asked,  however,  to  see  a  morning  paper,  and  when  it  came 
was  disappointed  to  find  no  paragraph  concerning  the  thief 
at  the  Hotel  Valmont.  She  did  not  know  anything  about 
the  making  of  newspapers,  but  took  it  for  granted  that 
the  story  had  been  too  late  for  press,  and  became  very 
eager  to  meet  her  neighbour,  that  she  might  hear  all  at 
first  hand  from  him. 

She  passed  him  hurriedly  the  day  before,  her  head  bent, 
because  she  was  afraid  he  meant  to  speak,  and  she  would 
have  to  snub  him.  But  now  the  tables  were  turned.  She 
dressed  and  went  down  early,  making  an  excuse  to  glance 
over  a  quantity  of  magazines  and  papers  in  the  big  hall, 
hoping  that  he  might  appear.  But  he  did  not.  It  was 
almost,  she  told  herself,  as  if  he  were  punishing  her  for 
avoiding  him  yesterday,  by  paying  her  back  La  her  own 
coin.  Not  that  she  believed  he  was  really  doing  so.  Yet 
it  was  extremely  aggravating  that  he  should  keep  out  of 
the  way.  He  ought  to  have  understood  that  she  would 
want  to  know  what  happened  after  the  first  chapter  of 

59 


60  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

the  story  was  brought  to  a  close  by  the  shutting  of  the 
door. 

Because  she  was  waiting  for  him  (whether  she  acknowl- 
edged this  or  not)  and  because  he  did  not  come,  Angela 
thought  of  the  man  every  moment,  without  being  able  to 
put  him  out  of  her  mind.  He  had  shown  such  astonishing 
tact  as  well  as  pluck  last  night,  and  was  so  good-looking, 
that  his  very  lack  of  cultivation  made  him  more  interesting 
as  a  study.  She  would  have  liked  to  ask  the  hotel  people 
about  him;  whence  he  came  and  what  was  his  name; 
but,  of  course,  she  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  All  she  did 
was  to  make  various  pretexts  for  lingering  in  the  hall  till 
nearly  luncheon  time;  and  then  the  arrival  of  evening 
papers  partly  explained  to  her  mind  the  mystery  of  the 
man's  absence.  Also  they  made  her  a  present  of  his  name, 
and  a  few  other  personal  items. 

"Nick  Hilliard  of  California  Makes  Hotel  Thief  Feel 
Small,"  was  the  heading  of  a  conspicuous  half -column 
which  caught  her  eye. 

The  said  thief,  it  seemed,  was  known  to  friends  and 
enemies  as  "Officer  Dutchy."  He  had  "worked"  with 
success  in  Chicago  and  the  Middle  West,  but  was  a  com- 
parative stranger  in  New  York.  He  "claimed"  to  have 
been  an  officer  hi  the  German  army,  but  probably  lied, 
though  he  had  evidently  been  a  soldier  at  one  time.  He 
had  numerous  aliases,  and  spoke  with  a  German  accent. 
His  name  appeared  on  the  register  of  the  Valmont  as 
Count  von  Osthaven,  and  he  admitted  an  attempt  to  enter 
the  room  occupied  by  Mr.  Hilliard,  having  reached  it  by 
a  daring  passage  along  a  stone  cornice,  from  his  own 
window,  four  rooms  to  the  left,  on  the  twelfth  storey. 


WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED       6f 

The  case  against  "Officer  Dutchy"  would  be  an  interest- 
ing one,  as  his  previous  career  was  —  according  to  the 
reporter  —  full  of  "good  stories."  Mr.  Hilliard  was  hop- 
ing, however,  that  it  might  be  hurried  on  and  off,  taking  up 
as  little  time  as  possible,  as  he  had  use  for  every  moment 
other  than  hanging  about  a  court-room  giving  evidence. 
Born  in  New  York,  he  had  gone  West  while  a  boy,  and  had 
never  since  been  in  the  East  till  a  day  or  two  ago,  when 
he  had  arrived  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Bakersfield, 
California,  with  the  avowed  intention  of  enjoying  himself. 
Naturally  he  did  not  want  to  have  his  enjoyment  curtailed 
by  business. 

Angela  felt  guilty.  It  was  her  fault  that  the  poor 
young  man's  holiday  was  spoiled.  She  ought  not  to  have 
let  him  take  her  burdens  on  his  shoulders;  but  it  was  too 
late  to  repent  now.  She  could  not  come  forward  and  tell 
the  real  story,  for  that  would  do  him  harm,  since  it  would 
differ  from  his  version.  She  could  atone  only  by  showing 
her  gratitude  in  some  way.  Because  he  came  from  Cali- 
fornia, she  longed  to  show  how  friendly  and  kind  she  could 
be  to  a  man  of  her  father's  country  —  a  man  worthy  of  that 
country  and  its  traditions  she  began  to  think. 

She  lunched  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  restaurant;  but 
Mr.  Nickson  Hilliard  of  California  did  not  show  himself, 
and  at  last  Angela  went  up  to  her  own  rooms  disappointed. 
Hardly  had  she  closed  the  door,  however,  when  a  knock 
sent  hefr  flying  to  open  it  again.  A  bellboy  had  brought 
a  note,  and  she  sprang  to  the  conclusion  that  it  must  be 
from  Mr.  Hilliard.  He  had  found  out  her  name,  and  had 
written  to  tell  what  had  happened  behind  the  closed  door  — 
the^  loose  end  of  the  story  which  the  newspapers  had  not 


62  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

got,  never  would  get,  from  any  one  concerned.  But  the 
bright  pink  of  excitement  and  interest  which  had  sprung 
to  her  face  died  away,  as  she  opened  the  envelope  and 
glanced  down  the  first  page  of  the  letter,  which  was  headed, 
"Doctor  Beal's  Nursing  Home."  She  read: 

"MADAM: 

"I  am  requested  by  Mr.  Henry  Mcrehouse  of  San 
Francisco  to  express  his  regret  at  not  being  able  to  meet 
your  ship  and  offer  his  services  as  he  hoped  to  do,  at  the 
request  of  his  elder  brother,  Mr.  James  Morehouse,  of  the 
fidelity  Trust  Bank,  San  Francisco.  Mr.  H.  Morehouse 
was  coming  East  on  law  business,  when  his  brother  sug- 
gested that  he  make  himself  useful  to  you,  and  he  was 
looking  forward  to  doing  so,  having  known  the  late  Mr. 
Franklin  Merriam.  On  starting,  however,  Mr.  Morehouse 
was  far  from  well,  and  found  himself  so  much  worse  on 
reaching  New  York,  that  he  was  obliged  to  consult  a  doctor. 
The  result  was  an  immediate  operation  for  appendicitis. 
This  was  performed  successfully  yesterday  and  Mr.  More- 
house  feel  strong  enough  to  express  (through  me)  his  regret, 
wishing  to  explain  why  he  failed,  in  case  his  brother  may 
have  let  you  know  that  he  intended  to  meet  you. 

"Yours  faithfully, 

"N.  MILLAR 
"  (Nurse  in  Doctor  Beal's  Private  Hospital)." 

Mr.  James  Morehouse  (in  whose  bank  there  were  funds 
for  "Mrs.  May")  had  not  informed  her  of  his  brother's 
intentions,  and  though  she  was  sorry  to  hear  of  the  poor 
man's  sufferings,  she  could  not  regret  his  failure  to  meet  her 
at  the  ship.  She  did  not  wish  to  be  helped,  nor  told  how 
to  see  things,  nor  be  personally  conducted  to  California. 
She  enjoyed  being  free,  and  vague,  able  to  stop  as  long  or 


WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED       63 

as  short  a  time  as  she  liked  on  the  way.  She  wanted  to 
see  only  places  which  she  wanted  to  see,  not  places  which 
she  ought  to  want  to  see;  for  there  was  ;sure  to  be  a 
difference. 

Nevertheless,  she  wrote  a  gracious  answer  to  the  letter, 
and  ordered  flowers  sent  to  Doctor  Seal's  Nursing  Home, 
for  Mr.  Henry  Morehouse.  Then  she  proceeded  to  forget 
him,  unconscious  of  the  direct  influence  his  illness  was  to 
have  upon  her  future.  She  thought  far  more  about  Mr. 
Nickson  Billiard,  whom  she  had  avoided  yesterday,  and 
who  seemed  to  avoid  her  to-day.  The  fact  that  the  letter 
which  had  brought  colour  to  her  face  was  from  a  strange, 
unwanted  Mr.  Morehouse,  vexed  the  Princess  unreason- 
ably with  Nickson  Hilliard,  who  ought  to  have  written, 
if  he  could  not  call,  to  tell  his  story;  and  when  she  heard 
nothing  from  him,  saw  nothing  of  him,  it  was  in  resentment 
that  she  left  New  York  next  morning.  Though  it  was 
entirely  subconscious,  the  real  thought  in  her  mind  was: 

"Since  he  didn't  choose  to  take  the  chance  when  he 
had  it,  now  he  shan't  have  it  at  all ! " 

For  a  woman  of  twenty-three  is  very  young.  It  is 
annoying  to  be  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  an  adventure,  by 
the  hero  of  the  adventure,  when  you  have  flattered  your- 
self that  the  poor  fellow  was  yearning  to  know  you.  If 
Angela  was  unjust  to  Hilliard  she  was  not  an  isolated 
instance;  for  all  women  are  unjust  to  all  men,  especially 
to  those  in  whom  they  are  beginning  to  take  an  interest. 
Angela  did  not  know  that  she  was  interested  in  Nickson 
Hilliard,  and  would  have  laughed  if  any  one  had  suggested 
the  idea,  from  a  personal  point  of  view;  but  in  her  social 


64  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

reign  as  the  Princess  di  Sereno,  she  had  been  a  good  deal 
spoiled  —  by  every  one  except  the  Prince.  Vaguely,  and 
like  a  petted  child,  she  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  all 
men  were  glad  to  be  "nice"  to  her,  and  she  thought  the 
"forest  creature"  was  showing  himself  a  backwoods 
creature  —  rude  and  unenlightened. 

Angela  loved  the  sea,  and  chose  to  travel  on  it  when- 
ever she  could.  The  trip  from  New  York  to  New  Orleans 
was  even  more  interesting  than  she  had  expected  from 
tales  of  her  father's,  for  the  ship  steamed  along  the  coast, 
in  blue  and  golden  weather,  turning  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
after  rounding  the  long  point  of  Florida.  Cutting  the  silk 
woof  of  azure,  day  by  day,  a  great  longing  to  be  happy 
knocked  at  Angela's  heart,  like  something  unjustly  im- 
prisoned, demanding  to  be  let  out.  She  had  never  felt 
it  so  strongly  before.  It  must  be,  she  thought,  the  tonic 
of  the  air,  which  made  her  conscious  of  youth  and  life,  eager 
to  have  things  happen,  and  be  in  the  midst  of  them. 
But  Kate  was  a  comfort,  almost  a  friend.  And  Timmy 
the  cat  was  a  priceless  treasure. 

No  town  in  America,  perhaps,  could  have  contrasted 
more  sharply  with  New  York  than  New  Orleans.  Angela 
felt  this,  even  as  the  ship  moved  slowly  along  the  great 
canal  and  slipped  into  the  dark,  turbid  gold  of  the  Missis- 
sippi River.  The  drowsy  landscape  on  either  side  was 
Southern  landscape,  and  among  live-oaks  draped  with 
mourning  flags  of  moss,  and  magnolia-trees  gemmed  with 
buds,  there  were  planters'  houses  which  seemed  all  roof 
and  balcony.  Buzzards  flew  up  suddenly,  out  of  rice- 
fields,  as  the  ship  rounded  a  curve  —  creatures  big  and  long- 
legged  as  the  storks  of  Holland  and  Algeria.  The  wharf, 


WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED       65 

when  the  ship  docked  at  last,  was  filled  with  bales  of  cot- 
ton, and  it  was  as  if  all  the  negroes  in  America  must  have 
come  down  to  meet  the  boat.  She  might  have  been  walk- 
ing into  an  old  story  of  Cable's,  in  the  days  "befoh  the 
wah." 

Her  idea  had  been  to  travel  on  to  the  West  next  day, 
but  New  Orleans  held  her.  She  had  left  the  Old  World 
eagerly  for  the  New;  but  this  bit  of  the  Old,  in  the  midst  of 
the  New,  made  her  feel  as  if  she  had  stumbled  into  an 
ancient  Spanish  court,  in  the  middle  of  a  modern  sky- 
scraper. The  contrast  was  sharp  as  the  impress  of  an  old 
seal  in  new  wax,  and  Angela  loved  it.  She  liked  her  hotel, 
too,  and  said  but  half-heartedly  each  morning,  "To- 
morrow I'll  go  on."  With  Kate  for  duenna,  she  wandered 
through  streets  which,  though  they  had  historic  French 
names,  reminded  her  more  of  Spain  than  of  France,  with 
their  rows  of  balconies  and  glimpses  of  flowery  patios 
paved  with  mossy  stones,  or  cracked  but  still  beautiful 
tiles.  She  made  friends  with  an  elderly  French  shop- 
keeper of  the  Vieux  Carre,  who  looked  as  if  carved  out  of 
ivory  and  yellowed  with  age.  His  business  was  the  selling 
of  curiosities;  antique  furniture  brought  in  sailing  ships 
from  France  when  New  Orleans  was  in  the  making; 
quaintly  set  jewels  worn  by  famous  beauties  of  the  great 
old  days;  brocades  and  velvets  which  had  been  their  ball 
dresses;  books  which  had  Andrew  Jackson's  name  on 
yellow  fly-leaves;  weird  souvenirs  from  the  haunted 
house  where  terrible  Madame  Lalaurie  tortured  slaves 
to  death;  fetishes  which  had  belonged  to  Marie  Laveau, 
the  Voodoo  Queen;  sticks  and  stones  of  the  varnished 
house  where  Louis  Philippe  lived,  and  letters  written  by 


66  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Nicholas  Girod,  who  plotted  to  rescue  Napoleon  from  St. 
Helena  and  spirit  him  across  the  sea  to  New  Orleans. 
The  selling  of  these  things,  or  rather  the  collecting  of  them, 
was  the  pleasure  as  well  as  the  business  of  Monsieur 
Bienvenu,  and  he  had  stored  in  his  mind  as  many  legends 
of  the  old  town  as  he  had  stored  treasures  in  his  low- 
browed, musky-smelling  shop.  Angela  spent  her  mornings 
listening  to  his  tales  of  slave-days,  and  always  she  bought 
something  before  she  bade  him  au  revoir,  in  the  Parisian 
French  which  enchanted  the  old  man. 

"You  light  up  my  place,  madame,"  he  said;  and 
insisted,  with  graceful  gestures,  that  she  should  not  pay 
for  her  collection  of  old  miniatures,  necklaces,  gilded 
crystal  bottles,  illuminated  books  and  ivory  crucifixes, 
until  the  day  fixed  for  her  departure. 

"Once  you  pay,  madame,  you  may  not  come  again," 
he  smiled.  "I  am  superstitious.  I  will  not  take  your 
money  till  the  last  moment." 

On  the  third  day,  however,  Angela  decided  that  she 
must  go.  Her  father's  country  called,  with  a  voice  she 
could  hear  above  the  music  of  the  Southern  town,  the 
laughter  of  the  pretty  French  girls  and  the  chatter  of  black 
and  brown  babies  who  babbled  a  language  which  was 
neither  French,  Spanish,  nor  English,  but  a  mixture  of  all. 
She  bought  more  things  of  Monsieur  Bienvenu,  and  also 
in  other  curiosity  shops  which  she  dared  not  mention  to 
him,  since  his  one  failing  was  a  bitter  jealousy  of  rivals. 

"Where  is  my  gold  bag,  Kate?  Have  you  got  it?" 
she  asked,  when  the  moment  came  to  pay  a  hundred 
dollars  for  two  or  three  snuff-boxes,  picked  up  in  a  place 
she  had  not  visited  until  that  day. 


WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED       67 

"No,  ma'am,  you  had  it  on  yer  arm  when  I  noticed 
last,"  said  Kate,  looking^  startled.  "Fur  all  the  saints, 
I  hope  ye  haven't  lost  it!" 

Angela,  too,  began  to  look  anxious.  Not  only  was  her 
bag  valuable  —  worth  seven  or  eight  hundred  dollars  — 
but  all  her  money  was  in  it,  and  a  check-book  she  had 
brought  out  that  morning,  to  pay  Monsieur  Bienvenu  the 
rather  large  sum  she  owed  him.  Still,  she  was  not  greatly 
distressed.  She  had  lost  that  gold  bag  so  many  times, 
had  dropped  it  from  her  lap  when  she  got  up,  left  it 
in  motor-cars,  or  lying  on  the  floor  in  friends'  houses, 
and  always  it  had  come  back  to  her!  She  cheered 
herself,  therefore  by  saying  that  to-day  would  be  no 
exception. 

"Let  me  think,  where  were  we  last,  Kate?"  she  won- 
dered. "The  shop  where  I  bought  the  lilac  and  silver 
stole,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  ma'am  it  was.  And  indade,  if  ye'll  not  mind 
my  say  in'  so,  I  begged  ye  not  to  go  in  there,  the  place 
looked  so  disrespectable,  as  if  there  might  be  measles  or 
'most  anything,  and  the  man  himself  come  poppin'  out  to 
entice  ye  in,  like  the  spider  with  the  fly." 

"We  must  go  back  at  once  and  see  if  I  left  the  bag 
after  paying  for  the  stole,"  said  Angela.  And,  explaining 
to  the  late  owner  of  the  snuff-boxes,  she  hurried  out  with 
Kate,  leaving  her  parcel  to  be  called  for. 

Little  Mr.  Isaac  Cohensohn,  of  the  brocade  shop,  made  a 
search,  but  could  not  find  the  missing  trinket.  Unfortu- 
nately, a  number  of  people  had  been  in  since  the  lady  left, 
strangers  to  him.  If  madam  was  sure  she  had  gone  out  of 
the  shop  without  the  bag,  why,  somebody  must  have 


68  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

taken  it  since  then.  The  question  was,  who?  But  she 
must  apply  to  the  police. 

"If  only  I  hadn't  stuffed  in  that  check-book!"  Angela 
said  to  Kate.  "Perhaps  they  would  have  cashed  a  check 
in  the  hotel.  Anyhow,  Monsieur  Bienvenu  would  have 
taken  one  for  what  I  owe  him.  Now  I'm  in  the  most 
horrid  scrape!  I  don't  know  how  I'm  going  to  get  out 
of  it." 

They  walked  back  toward  the  shop  of  the  snuff-boxes 
gloomily  discussing  the  situation,  which  was  complicated  by 
the  fact  that,  grown  cautious  since  the  attempted  burglary 
at  the  Valmont,  Angela  had  left  her  most  valuable  jewellery 
in  a  bank  at  New  York.  It  was  to  be  sent  on,  insured, 
only  when  she  finished  her  travelling,  and  settled  down. 

"I'll  have  to  call  the  police,  I  suppose,"  she  said. 
"Though  it's  sure  to  do  no  good.  I  shall  never  see  my  bag 
again!  I  can  telegraph  to  have  the  checks  stopped  at 
the  San  Francisco  bank;  but  I  had  nearly  five  hundred 
dollars  in  the  purse.  What  shall  I  do  about  my  hotel  bill 
and  everything?  And  my  railway  tickets?  We'll  have 
to  stay  till  I  can  get  money." 

Suddenly,  because  it  seemed  impossible,  she  wanted 
passionately  to  start  at  once. 

Always  she  had  hated  postponing  things. 

"Somehow,  I  will  go!"  she  said  to  herself.  ."I  don't 
know  how  —  but  I  will."  And  she  walked  on  with  Kate, 
back  to  the  hotel,  remembering  how  she  had  told  the 
head  clerk  that  this  was  her  last  day  —  she  was  giving  up 
the  rooms  to-morrow.  And  the  hotel  was  crammed,  be- 
cause there  was  a  Convention  of  some  sort.  It  might  be 
that  her  suite  was  already  let  for  the  next  day. 


WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED       69 

She  went  to  the  desk,  asking  abruptly,  "If  I  find  that 
I  need  to  stop  longer,  are  my  rooms  free  for  to-morrow?" 

"  Unfortunately,  we've  just  let  them  —  not  as  a  suite, 
but  separately,"  said  the  young  man.  "This  is  a  big 
week  for  the  Crescent  City,  you  know,  and  we've  got 
people  sleeping  in  bathrooms." 

"What  shall  I  do?"  Angela  exclaimed,  trouble  breaking 
down  reserve.  "All  my  money  and  a  check-book  I  had 
in  my  gold  bag  have  been  stolen.  I'll  have  to  telegraph 
my  bank."  And  she  had  visions  of  being  deposited  in  a 
bathroom,  with  all  her  luggage  and  Kate,  and  Tim  the  cat. 

"Well,  that's  a  shame,"  the  clerk  sympathized.  "I'll 
tell  you  what  I  can  do.  A  gentleman  came  in  about  an 
hour  ago;  said  he  was  looking  for  a  friend;  glanced  over 
the  register,  and  must  have  found  the  name,  because  he's 
going  to  stay.  He's  got  to  sleep  in  the  laundry  to-night, 
but  he's  among  those  I've  allotted  to  your  suite  to-morrow. 
When  he  hears  a  lady  wants  to  keep  her  room,  he's  sure  to 
wait  for  it." 

"I  don't  like  to  ask  a  favour  of  a  stranger,"  Angela 
hesitated. 

"American  men  don't  call  things  like  that  favours, 
when  there's  a  lady  in  the  case,"  replied  the  clerk.  "It 
wouldn't  do  for  you  to  be  in  the  laundry." 

It  was  rather  unthinkable;  so  when  the  young  man 
added  that  the  newcomer  might  be  in  at  any  minute  for 
luncheon,  Angela  flitted  to  her  own  quarters,  which  looked 
more  than  ever  attractive  now  that  they  might  be  snapped 
away  from  her.  She  descended  again  soon,  hoping  to  hear 
her  fate;  and  there,  by  the  desk,  stood  Mr.  Nickson 
Billiard. 


70  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

His  brown  face  reddened  at  sight  of  Mrs.  May,  but  he 
did  not  show  surprise.  Seeing  that  she  intended  to  recog- 
nize him,  his  eyes  brightened,  and  Angela  felt  that  she, 
too,  was  blushing  a  little.  She  was  vexed  with  him  still, 
but  it  would  have  been  stupid  as  well  as  ungrateful  to 
show  her  annoyance  except  by  being  elaborately  polite. 
After  all,  she  owed  him  gratitude,  which  she  had  wished 
for  a  chance  to  pay. 

She  put  out  her  hand,  and  he  radiated  joy  as  he  took  it. 
Happiness  was  becoming  to  Nick.  An  all  too  cordial 
grip  he  gave,  then  loosened  his  grasp  in  a  fright;  "I 
hope  I  haven't  hurt  you!"  he  exclaimed,  horrified. 

Angela  laughed.  "Only  a  tiny  bit;  and  that's  better 
than  a  fishy  handshake.  Luckily,  I  left  my  sharpest 
rings  in  New  York.  And,  oh,  the  gold  bag  you  saved  is 
gone  forever!  I've  just  had  it  stolen." 

"That's  too  bad,"  he  remarked.  But  he  did  not  look 
cast  down.  "I'll  rummage  New  Orleans  for  it,  if  you 
give  me  leave  to  have  a  try,"  he  volunteered. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "But  I  shall  have  to  tell  the 
police,  I  suppose.  Not  that  there's  much  hope." 

"You  wouldn't  let  me  set  the  ball  rolling,  would  you?" 
he  asked,  as  if  he  were  begging  a  favour  instead  of  wishing 
to  do  one.  "I  mean  go  to  the  police  for  you,  and  all 
that?" 

"How  kind  you  are!"  exclaimed  Angela.  "But  —  no, 
indeed,  I  won't  spoil  your  visit  to  New  Orleans  as  I  did 
your  visit  to  New  York." 

Nick  looked  astounded.  "What  makes  you  think  you 
spoiled  my  visit  to  New  York?" 

Here  was  Angela's  chance  for  a  gentle  reproach,  and  she 


WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED       71 

could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  administering  it, 
wrapped  in  sugar. 

"I  don't  think.  I  know.  And  it  distressed  me  very 
much,"  she  said,  sweetly.  "I  read  in  the  papers  that  you 
hadn't  been  in  New  York  since  you  were  a  boy;  that  you 
were  there  to  'enjoy  yourself.'  And  all  your  time  was 
taken  up  with  the  bother  that  ought  to  have  been  mine! 
You  were  too  busy  even  to  let  me  hear  what  happened 

that  night,  after "  Suddenly  she  was  sorry  that  she 

had  begun.  It  was  silly  and  undignified  to  reproach  him. 

His  face  grew  scarlet,  as  if  he  were  a  scolded  schoolboy. 

"Too  busy!"  he  echoed.  "Why,  you  didn't  think 
that,  did  you?  You  couldn't!'* 

"What  was  I  to  think?"  asked  Angela,  lightly.  "But 
really,  what  I  thought  isn't  worth  talking  about." 

"It  may  not  be  to  you,  but  it  is  to  me,  if  you  don't 
mind,"  he  persisted.  "I  —  I  made  sure  you'd  know  why 
I  didn't  —  send  you  any  word  or  —  or  anything.  But  if 
you  didn't  see  it  the  right  way,  I've  got  to  tell  you  now. 
It  was  because  —  of  course,  it  was  because  —  I  just  didn't 
dare  butt  in.  I  was  afraid  you'd  feel,  if  I  had  the  cheek  to 
write  a  note,  or  follow  up  and  speak  to  you  in  the  hotel, 
that  I  was  —  kind  of  takin'  advantage  of  what  was  an  ac- 
cident —  my  luck  in  gettin'  a  chance  to  do  a  little  thing  for 
you.  A  mighty  small  thing;  'twouldn't  have  been  visible 
except  in  a  high-powered  microscope,  and  only  then  if  you 
looked  hard  for  it.  So  I  said  to  myself,  "Twas  enough 
luck  to  have  had  that  chance.'  I'd  be  a  yellow  dog  to 
presume  on  it." 

Instantly  Angela  realized  that  it  was  her  vanity  which 
had  been  hurt  by  his  seeming  negligence,  and  that  it  was 


72  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

stroked  the  right  way  by  this  embarrassed  explanation. 
She  was  ashamed  of  herself  for  drawing  it  out,  yet  she 
was  pleased;  because  she  had  been  really  hurt.  Now 
that  she  need  not  puzzle  over  the  man's  motives,  she  would 
perhaps  cease  to  think  of  him.  But  she  must  be  kind,  just 
for  a  minute  or  two  —  to  make  up  for  putting  him  in  the 
confessional,  and  to  prove  the  gratitude  she  wished  to  show. 

"You  must  be  a  very  modest  person,  if  you  didn't 
understand  that  I  longed  to  hear  —  lots  of  things  you 
wouldn't  let  the  newspapers  get  hold  of,"  she  smiled. 
"Of  course,  it  was  interesting  to  read  about  that  wretched 
man  —  Dutchy,  or  whatever  they  called  him.  And  as 
he  seems  to  have  stolen  from  heaps  of  people,  I  suppose 
it's  well  for  the  world  that  he'll  be  shut  up  in  prison  — 
although  I  can't  bear  the  thought  of  prison  for  any  one. 
It  stifles  me.  There  ought  to  be  some  other  kind  of 
punishment.  But  I  did  want  to  know  what  happened  in 
your  room  after " 

"Nothing  much  happened,"  said  Nick.  "The  little 
beast  was  all  in.  I'd  kind  of  got  on  his  nerves,  and  he 
knew  I'd  dig  a  hole  in  the  ground  with  him  if  he  so  much  as 
peeped.  I  just  rounded  him  up,  and  then  the  police  came 
and  played  out  the  rest  of  the  hand.  As  for  you  spoilin' 
my  visit  to  New  York,  why  ma'am,  you  made  it.  I  had 
the  time  of  my  life." 

Angela  laughed,  because  he  called  her  "ma'am"  (which 
was  even  funnier  than  "lady,"  from  the  hero  who  had 
saved  her  life),  and  because  all  his  expressions  struck  her 
as  extremely  "quaint." 

"It  was  a  very  short  time  of  your  life  then.  I  should 
have  thought  you'd  want  to  stay  weeks  in  New  York,  as 


you  hadn't  been  there  for  so  long  —  and  you'd  travelled 
so  far.  You  see,  I  saw  in  the  paper  that  you'd  come  from 
California.  And  that  interested  me,  because  my  —  because 
dear  friends  of  mine  have  told  me  so  much  about  Cali- 
fornia." She  did  not  add  that  she  was  on  her  way  there, 
but,  of  course,  he  might  suspect,  meeting  her  in  New 
Orleans,  if  he  were  curious  concerning  her  movements. 

"I  did  mean  to  stay  some  time  when  I  went  East,'* 
he  admitted,  "  but  —  well,  perhaps  I  was  homesick.  Any- 
how, I  felt  as  if  I'd  got  a  hurry  call  to  go  home. " 

"  What  an  odd  coincidence,  our  meeting  here ! "  Angela 
spoke  out  her  thought. 

"Ye-es,"  assented  Nick.  "I  reckon  it  does  seem  that 
way."  He  was  interested  in  the  pattern  of  the  carpet. 
"If  you  won't  think  it  a  liberty,  now  I  am  here,"  he  began 
again,  "I'll  be  mighty  glad  to  try  and  find  your  bag- 
If  you'll  tell  me  just  how  and  where  you  lost  it " 

Angela  shook  her  head.  "You're  not  to  spend  your 
time  fussing  with  the  police,  as  you  did  in  New  York." 

"But  I'd  like  it  better  than  anything,"  he  said.  "I 
didn't  come  to  New  Orleans  to  see  the  sights,  anyhow. 
I'll  feel  down  and  out  if  you  won't  let  me  help.  'Twill 
seem  as  if  I'd  managed  wrong  in  New  York." 

"Oh,  if  you're  going  to  feel  like  that!"  And  forthwith 
Angela  told  him  the  story  of  her  loss. 

"All  your  money  and  a  check-book  full  of  blank 
checks!"  he  echoed. 

"Yes.  I've  wired  already  to  have  the  checks  stopped 
for  the  bank's  sake.  But  it's  a  bore.  And  I  was  fond  of 
that  bag.  Besides,  I  had  about  five  hundred  dollars  in  my 
purse.  Now  I  shall  have  to  wait  here  till  I  can  get  more.'* 


74  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"You  wanted  to  go?"  he  asked. 

"Yes  —  to-morrow.     However,  that  doesn't  matter." 

"It  does,  if  you  wanted  to.  But,  see  here,  ma'am,  I've 
thought  of  something." 

"My  name  is  Mrs.  May,"  said  Angela,  smiling. 

"I  know  —  I  mean,  are  you  willing  I  should  call  you  it, 
just  as  if  I  was  really  acquainted  with  you?" 

"Of  course.     Why  not?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  he  explained.  "What  I  don't  know 
about  society  and  the  right  way  to  act  with  ladies  could 
be  put  in  a  book  bigger  than  the  Bible.  And  I  wouldn't 
offend  you,  for  —  for  a  good  deal." 

"I  feel  certain  you'd  know  the  'right  way  to  act,'  by 
instinct,"  Angela  assured  him.  "You  were  splendid  to 
me  that  night  in  New  York.  Very  few  men  would  have 
known  how  to  do  what  you  did." 

"Thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  saying  that,  though 
I  don't  deserve  one  word,"  Nick  burst  out,  flushing  again, 
and  hoping  she  did  not  see,  because  he  had  a  trying  task 
before  him.  "But  my  idea  is  this.  Couldn't  you  let  me 
lend  the  money  you  need,  and  go  on  when  you  like,  instead 
of  waiting?  You  could  send) it  back,  any  old  way  —  check 
or  anything.  And  I  wouldn't  care  a  hang  —  I  wouldn't 
care  a  red  cent  —  when." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't "  Angela  began,  but  the  look  on 

his  face  stopped  her.  It  was  so  strong  a  mixture  of  dis- 
appointment and  chagrin,  as  to  make  him  instantly  pathetic 
in  her  eyes.  She  had  just  said  that  he  was  a  man  whose 
instinct  would  always  be  right,  and  she  had  meant  it 
sincerely.  She  knew,  if  she  knew  anything  about  men, 
that  here  was  one  of  Nature's  gentlemen.  He  had  proved 


WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED       75 

that  already;  and  —  it  was  a  shame  to  hurt  his  feelings 
after  all  he  had  done  for  her. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  if  I've  said  the  wrong  thing.  I 
meant  no  harm,"  he  apologized  warmly.  "But  I  get 
left-handed  and  tongue-tied,  I  guess,  when  it  comes  to 
being  civilized  —  where  there's  a  lady  in  the  case.  It 
must  have  been  I  said  it  the  wrong  way,  for  I  do  know  the 
thing  itself  would  be  right.  You  want  to  go.  You've 
lost  your  money.  And  I  expect  your  bank  wouldn't  send 
it  on  a  telegram.  They  mostly  won't.  That  means 
waiting  days,  perhaps.  So  I  thought " 

"It  would  mean  waiting,"  she  broke  into  his  pause. 
"  My  bank  is  a  long  way  off.  You're  very  kind,  and  I  vritt 
borrow  the  money,  if  it  won't  inconvenience  you,  on 
condition  that  —  you  let  me  give  you  security." 

"That  would  hurt  my  feelings  badly,"  said  he;  "but 
I'd  rather  ^you'd  do  it  than  not  take  the  money,  because 
your  convenience  is  a  heap  more  important  than  my 
feelings." 

"If  I  go  I  can  get  money  hi  a  few  days,  and  wire  it 
back  to  you  here,"  Angela  reflected  aloud,  at  a  loss  how 
to  treat  the  situation  when  it  became  a  question  of  hurting 
Mr.  Hilliard's  feelings. 

Nick's  face  fell.  "I  —  unless  you  give  me  your  orders — 
I  don't  want  to  stay  here  very  long,"  said  he.  "I  don't 
care  when  I  get  the  money  back." 

"Why,  you've  only  just  arrived,  haven't  you?" 

"  Ye-es.  But  I  feel  my  homesickness  coming  on  again. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I'll  always  be  sort  of  restless,  now, 
away  from  the  West.  It's  my  country  —  anyhow,  the 
country  of  my  heart." 


76  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Angela  came  near  saying,  "So  it  is  mine."  But  that 
might  have  necessitated  explanations.  "Well,  you  must 
take  the  security,  I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  "or  I  can't  take 
the  loan.  As  I  told  you,  I  left  most  of  my  things  in  New 
York,  to  be  sent  on  when  I  settle  down.  Still,  there's  one 
thing,  which  I  couldn't  pawn,  or  leave  with  hotel  people. 
But  I  wouldn't  mind  giving  it  to  you.  It's  a  diamond 
frame  for  a  miniature  I  always  carry  with  me.  I  could 
take  the  miniature  out." 

Nick  stared  hard  at  the  carpet  again.  He  was  afraid 
to  let  her  see  the  look  on  his  face.  "  It's  her  dead  husband's 
picture,"  he  thought.  "She  must  have  loved  him,  if 
she  always  carries  his  portrait  around."  Aloud  he  said, 
"  Very  well,  if  you  won't  do  my  way,  I'll  have  to  do  yours." 

"I'll  give  you  the  address  of  my  bank;  and  I  must  have 
your  address,"  Angela  went  on.  "Then,  if  you  should 
change  your  mind  and  stay  here " 

"I'm  going  to  stay  just  long  enough  to  get  your  bag," 
he  replied. 

She  laughed.     "That  may  be  forever." 

"I  reckon  it  will  be  some  hours  at  longest." 

"You  must  be  a  wonderful  detective!" 

"There's  more  of  the  bulldog  than  the  detective  in  me. 
But  it  will  go  hard  if  we  don't  find  that  bag." 

"Thank  you  again.  We  shall  see!"  she  said.  "Any- 
way, as  you're  to  be  my  banker  I  can  tell  the  hotel  clerk 
I  shan't  need  to  keep  people  in  bathrooms,  waiting  for 
my  suite,  after  to-night." 

"Oh,  was  it  you?"  exclaimed  Nick.  "The  fellow  was 
telling  me  a  lady  wanted  to  stay " 

"Then  it's  you  they've  stuffed  into  a  laundry!" 


WHEN  THE  TABLES  WERE  TURNED      77 

"I  like  it,"  Nick  assured  her.  "It's  a  mighty  clean 
place.  I  wish  you  could  see  some  of  the  holes  I've  slept 
in  —  that  is,  I  don't  wish  so !  But  it's  all  right.  And  now, 
just  say  how  much  money  you  want.  Anythilhg  up  to 
three  thousand  dollars  I  can  give  you  in  a  minute " 

"Oh,  not  nearly  so  much.  A  few  hundreds.  But  I'm 
going  to  lunch  now.  Would  you  care  to  lunch  at  the  same 
table,  and  we  can  arrange  about  the  loan?  Also  you  can 
tell  me  more  of  Dutchy." 

"I'd  like  it  better  than  anything,"  said  Nick.  "But 
first  I've  got  to  fix  things  about  your  bag  with  the  police. 
I'll  be  back,  and  look  you  up  by  the  time  you're  halfway 
to  dessert.  I  remember  just  what  that  bag  was  like, 
because  —  maybe  you've  forgotten  —  I  picked  it  up  hi  the 
hotel  hall  when  you  dropped  it.  I  can  see  it  as  plain  as 
if  it  was  here.  'Twas  a  kind  of  knitted  gold,  like  chain 
armour  for  a  doll.  And  there  was  a  run  all  smothered  in 
diamonds  and  blue  stones." 

"Sapphires,"  said  Angela. 

"That's  right.     Well,  I'll  be  back  in  twenty  minutes." 

It  was  useless  to  protest  against  his  going,  for  he  had 
gone  before  she  could  speak.  And  instead  of  beginning 
luncheon,  Angela  went  upstairs  to  take  from  its  diamond 
frame  her  father's  miniature.  On  the  gold  back  of  this 
frame  there  was  an  inscription:  "Angela,  on  her  eleventh 
birthday,  from  her  father.  The  day  before  she  sails." 
And  it  was  because  of  the  inscription  that  she  could  not 
have  offered  the  frame  to  an  ordinary  person  as  security, 
no  matter  how  desperately  she  had  wanted  a  loan.  But 
Mr.  Nickson  Hilliard  was  not  an  ordinary  person.j 


vn 

A  POLICE  MYSTERY 

IT  WAS  a  blow  to  Nick  to  be  told  that  there  was  little 
hope  of  finding  the  lost  bag.  He  had  pledged  himself 
to  "see  the  thing  through,"  but  he  had  reasons  —  im- 
mensely important  reasons  they  seemed  to  him  —  for 
wishing  to  leave  New  Orleans  next  day. 

So  far  as  was  known,  Cohensohn  was  an  honest  man. 
There  was  nothing  against  him,  and  his  shop  could  not  be 
searched  by  the  police.  All  they  could  do  was  to  get  a 
description  of  the  people  who  had  called  between  the  times 
of  Mrs.  May's  going  out  and  coming  in.  But  ten  chances 
to  one,  like  most  women,  she  had  mislaid  her  bag  some- 
where else,  or  left  it  at  home. 

Nick  did  not  like  these  insinuations  against  the  sex  to 
which  an  angel  deigned  to  belong;  but  he  took  them 
quietly,  and  instructed  the  police  to  offer  five-hundred 
dollars  reward  for  the  bag  alone,  or  a  thousand  with  the 
contents  intact.  Then  he  went  back  and  had  lunch  with 
Mrs.  May,  which  was,  without  exception,  the  most  ex- 
quisite experience  of  his  life.  Yet  he  did  not  know  what 
he  ate,  or  afterward,  whether  he  had  eaten  anything  at  all 
—  unless  it  was  some  bread  which,  with  bitter  disgust  at  his 
bad  manners,  he  vaguely  remembered  crumbling  on  the 
table. 

78 


A  POLICE  MYSTERY  79 

He  was  cheered,  however,  by  a  plan  he  had,  and  by  the 
inscription  on  Angela's  miniature  frame.  He  would  have 
hated  the  thing  if  it  had  been  her  husband's. 

Evening  came  and  there  was  no  news  of  the  missing 
bag.  There  were  not  even  any  satisfactory  clues. 

When  Nick  heard  this  he  thought  very  hard  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  inquired  at  what  time  the  shops  closed. 
He  was  told;  and  consulting  his  watch,  realized  that  they 
would  shut  in  less  than  an  hour. 

"What's  the  name  of  the  best  jewellery  store  in  this 
town?  "  he  wanted  to  know. 

There  were  several  which  ranked  about  the  same,  and 
scribbling  three  or  four  names  on  his  shirt-cuff,  he  rushed 
off  to  find  the  first. 

"Got  any  gold  handbags?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice,  as 
if  he  had  something  to  conceal.  "Kind  made  of  chain, 
with  diamonds  and  sapphires  along  the  top." 

He  was  shown  the  stock;  saw  nothing  apparently  which 
struck  his  fancy,  and  was  off  like  a  shot  in  search  of  the 
next  name  on  his  list. 

At  this  place  lived  a  bag  which,  so  far  as  he  could  re- 
member, seemed  the  duplicate  of  Mrs.  May's  except  that 
the  stones  alternating  with  the  diamonds  were  emeralds 
instead  of  sapphires. 

"Just  keep  that  thing  for  twenty  minutes,"  said  he. 
"I'll  come  back  to  tell  you  whether  I'll  take  it  or  not,  and 
what  I  want  done  to  it,  if  I  do." 

"Another  gentleman  was  in  to-day  looking  at  that  bag," 
said  the  attendant.  "  If  he  comes  before  you,  I  must  let 
him  have  it." 

"WThat  price  did  you  make  for  him?"  asked  Nick. 


80  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Seven  hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Well,  will  you  do  a  little  gamble?  Keep  it  till  I  come 
in,  and  if  I  take  it  I'll  pay  eight  hundred.  If  I  don't,  you 
can  have  twenty -five  dollars  interest  on  your  time." 

The  attendant  laughed.  "We  don't  do  business  that 
way.  But  I  guess  I  can  promise  to  keep  the  bag  till  you 
come  back,  if  you  hurry." 

Nick  did  hurry,  and  visited  three  other  shops  within 
ten  minutes,  though  they  were  at  some  distance  from  each 
other.  He  found  nothing  to  suit  him. 

"I'll  take  that  bag,  if  you  can  change  the  stones  and 
put  in  sapphires  instead  of  emeralds,"  he  announced, 
somewhat  breathlessly,  wiping  his  forehead.  "I  know  it 
will  come  dearer.  But  I'm  willing  to  pay." 

"When  would  you  want  it?"  asked  the  shopman. 

"To-morrow  morning  by  ten  o'clock  at  latest." 

"Oh,  impossible!" 

"I  don't  know  much  about  that  word,"  said  Nick. 
"We've  cut  it  out  of  the  dictionary  up  my  way.  Offer 
your  men  what  they  want  to  do  night  work,  and  I  guess 
they  11  name  a  price." 

After  all,  even  in  a  smart  jewellery  shop  they  do  not  sell 
a  gold  bag  every  day;  and  a  point  was  stretched  to 
gratify  the  purchaser,  who  had  a  way  which  made  people 
glad  to  please  him. 

He  went  back  to  his  hotel,  feeling  guilty  but  happy. 
"She's  going  to  have  a  gold  bag,  anyhow,"  he  thought. 
"I  don't  believe  she'll  ever  know  the  difference."  And 
Nick  began  to  rejoice  that  the  old  bag  would  never  be 
found.  It  would  be  splendid  to  know  that  she  was  using 


A  POLICE  MYSTERY  81 

a  thing  he  had  given  her.  If  the  other  bag  did  turn  up, 
the  police  would  let  him  know.  That  was  arranged;  and 
he  would  manage  somehow. 

"Only  to  think,"  he  said  to  himself,  "a  year  ago  I 
might  have  been  as  wild  to  do  this  deal  as  I  am  now,  but 
I  couldn't  have  run  to  it.  This  is  the  first  real  fun  I've 
got  out  of  my  money.  Mighty  good  thing  money  is  — 
though  I  used  not  to  know  it  mattered.  Dollars,  even  if 
I'd  a  million,  could  never  put  me  in  the  same  class  with 
an  angel.  But  they  give  me  a  chance  to  travel  with  her, 
and  that'll  be  something  to  remember." 

For  Nick  had  found  the  angel  of  his  dreams,  and  had 
recognized  her  at  first  glance  that  day  in  the  hall  of  the 
Valmont.  He  would  have  known  the  angel  by  her  eyes 
and  hair,  if  nothing  else  had  answered  the  description; 
but  all  the  rest  belonged  to  the  same  picture  —  the  picture 
of  his  ideal,  the  girl  he  had  never  expected  to  see  in  real 
life.  And  it  was  all  the  more  wonderful  that  her  name 
should  be  Angel,  or  something  near  it.  He  might  not  have 
learned  that  exquisite  detail  if  she  had  not  given  him  the 
diamond  frame  to  hold  as  security.  And  to  be  sure  of  his 
security  he  was  keeping  it  in  a  pocket  over  his  heart. 
He  knew  that  this  was  sentimental,  but  he  did  not  care  a 
red  cent!  Indeed,  he  gloried  in  it.  Soon  all  would  be 
over,  for  she  was  of  a  world  different  from  his,  and  pres- 
ently she  would  vanish  back  to  her  own  high  place, 
wherever  that  might  be.  He  could  not  have  defined  the 
difference  between  their  worlds,  if  he  had  been  called 
upon  to  do  so,  but  he  felt  it  intensely.  Still,  he  meant  to 
make  the  most  of  every  minute,  and  he  intended  to  have 
as  many  minutes  as  he  could  get.  Each  could  be  sepa- 


82  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

rately  treasured  as  if  it  were  a  pearl.  He  would  make  a 
jewel-case  of  his  memory,  he  told  himself,  for  he  was  very 
sure  that  never  would  so  good  a  thing  come  to  him  again. 

When  he  reached  the  hotel  it  was  dinner-time,  and 
hoping  that  Mrs.  May  might  invite  him  to  her  table,  as  she 
had  before,  he  dressed  carefully,  despite  his  inconvenient 
quarters.  When  he  was  ready,  however,  his  heart  failed 
him.  It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true  that  his  luck  should 
hold.  She  would  probably  be  dining  in  her  own  sitting- 
room,  or  else  she  would  have  had  enough  of  his  company 
earlier  in  the  day.  But  no,  there  she  was  in  the  restaurant, 
at  the  same  table  where  they  had  lunched  together;  and 
after  all  everything  arranged  itself  very  simply.  He  had 
to  tell  her  the  news  of  the  gold  bag  —  his  version  of  it; 
and  hearing  that  it  might  be  restored,  she  exclaimed, 
"You're  wonderful!  I'm  sure  it's  all  through  you.  It 
will  be  nice  to  have  my  dear  bag  again,  when  I  go  aboard 
the  train." 

It  was  a  pleasant  dinner  for  both,  and  each  seemed  to 
find  out  a  good  deal  about  the  other's  likings  and  dis- 
likings,  though  —  perhaps  purposely,  perhaps  by  accident 
—  they  said  singularly  little  about  their  own  affairs,  their 
past  lives,  or  future  intentions.  Afterward,  in  her  own 
room,  Angela  laughed  as  she  thought  over  the  day  and 
the  queer  things  she  had  somehow  been  led  into  doing. 

"It's  too  quaint  that  I  should  have  borrowed  money  of 
him!"  she  said  to  herself,  giggling  under  her  breath  like 
a  schoolgirl.  "Of  course,  on  top  of  that,  it's  nothing  at 
all  that  I  should  invite  him  to  lunch  and  dine.  And  the 
funniest  part  is,  it  never  once  seemed  queer  at  the  time, 
or  as  if  I  could  do  anything  else." 


A  POLICE  MYSTERY  83 

At  all  events  she  had  no  regrets.  The  coincidence  of 
Mr.  Nickson  Hilliard's  appearance  in  New  Orleans,  just  as 
her  hour  of  need  was  striking,  had  given  a  bright  side  to 
what  would  otherwise  have  been  a  disagreeable  and  sordid 
adventure.  Certainly  there  was  something  about  him 
that  inspired  confidence.  She  felt  that  through  him  she 
might  retrieve  her  bag;  and,  if,  by  chance,  the  money  were 
intact  she  could  pay  him  what  she  owed.  He  would  then 
return  the  miniature  frame,  and  it  would  not  be  necessary 
to  give  her  address  or  say  where  she  was  going !  Not  that 
he  would  misuse  such  information.  She  was  sure  of  this 
now,  and  she  could  not  help  being  pleased  that  he  had 
come  back  into  her  life  just  for  one  day  —  long  enough  to 
explain  himself. 

Next  morning,  at  a  quarter-past  ten  precisely,  a  note 
was  brought  to  her  room.  It  began: 

"Dear  Madam"  (Nick  had  not  dared  venture  upon 
"Dear  Mrs.  May";  it  had  not  even  occurred  to  him  that 
he  might),  and  informed  her  primly  that  the  bag  had 
arrived.  Also  it  inquired  in  stiff  language  whether  the 
writer  might  be  permitted  to  place  it  in  her  hands. 

Angela  laughed  as  she  read,  partly  with  pleasure  be- 
cause her  bag  was  found,  partly  because  the  poor  young 
man's  stiffness  amused  her.  She  knew  enough  about  him 
now  to  understand  that  it  was  shyness  and  ignorance  of 
social  customs;  but  earlier  she  might  have  thought  she 
had  offended  him.  "Anyway,  he  writes  a  good  hand," 
she  thought.  "Full  of  character  and  strength  and  not 
a  bit  uneducated." 

"Ask  Mr.  Hilliard  to  come  to  my  sitting-room,"  she 
said  to  the  bellboy. 


84  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

A  few  minutes  later  Nick  appeared,  his  manner  strained 
in  a  painful  endeavour  to  hide  anxiety. 

"So  you've  got  my  bag.  How  splendid!"  Angela  ex- 
claimed, as  they  shook  hands.  "I'm  sure  I  have  your 
efforts  to  thank  more  than  those  of  the  police." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Nick  valiantly.  "The  police  of  this 
town  are  a  fine  set  of  men." 

"How  did  they  find  it?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

Nick  looked  grave. 

"Well,  it  seems  there's  —  er  —  a  kind  of  secret  con- 
cerned," he  explained.  "The  thing  required  is  that  we 
don't  ask  questions.  And  perhaps  you'll  agree,  for  what 
you  want  is  the  bag." 

Desperately  obliterating  all  expression  from  his  face, 
and  hoping  that  his  eyes  were  not  anxious,  Nick  took  from 
his  pocket  a  gold  bag  whose  diamonds,  alternating  with 
sapphires,  sparkled  as  the  sunshine  struck  them. 

Angela  accepted  it  delightedly,  with  but  a  superficial 
glance  at  the  bag  itself.  ' '  Why,  there's  something  inside ! ' ' 
she  exclaimed 

"Only  money,"  he  hurried  to  break  the  news.  "Not 
the  purse,  nor  the  check-book.  I'm  mighty  sorry,  but 
they're  both  gone.  The  police  did  their  best.  May  get 
them  later." 

Angela  opened  the  bag.  "Five  hundred  dollars,"  she 
said  counting  rapidly.  "Now,  isn't  that  odd?  I  didn't 
think  I  had  quite  so  much !  How  queer  the  money  should 
have  come  back  without  the  purse  it  was  in,  and  especially 
the  check-book.  One  would  think  that  would  be  of  little 
value  to  a  thief." 

"There's  no  accounting  for  a  thief's  ways,"  said  Nick 


A  POLICE  MYSTERY  85 

solemnly.     "And  I  guess  a  lady  can't  always  remember  to 
a  dollar  or  two  what  money  she  had." 

"No-o,"  Angela  admitted.  "But  —  it  looks  different, 
somehow."  She  glanced  again  at  the  outside  of  the  bag, 
and  Nick's  heart  jumped.  "The  bag  looks  different,  too," 
she  said.  "Newer,  and " 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  I  took  the  liberty  of  having  it 
cleaned  up  before  it  came  back  to  your  hands." 

"But  the  stones " 

"The  worst  of  it  is  they  had  to  be  put  back  in  again," 
said  Nick.     "That  gives  a  different  look." 

"The  thief  had  taken  out  the  stones?" 

"Somebody  had,  anyhow  —  some  of  them." 

"And  I'm  not  to  ask  questions!  It's  the  most  mysteri- 
ous thing  I  ever  heard." 

"I  expect  it's  one  of  those  cases  where  'the  least  said 
soonest  mended,'  "  Nick  remarked. 

"But  do  you  know  who  took  the  bag,  and  what 
happened?" 

"No  more  than  you  do.  I  —  just  had  to  make  the  best 
of  a  bad  business.  I  hope  you  don't  think  I  did  wrong?" 

"No,  indeed.  That  would  be  ungrateful.  Only  —  it's 
very  strange.  I  suppose  this  must  be  my  bag,  but " 

"You  can  take  your  oath  of  that,  anyhow.  And  it's 
your  money." 

"More  than  I  thought  I  had.  And  the  bag  looks  pret- 
tier. It's  as  if  I'd  cast  my  bread  on  the  waters  and  it  had 
returned  —  buttered.  One  good  thing  is,  I  can  pay  you. 
Four  hundred  dollars  I  borrowed.  Here  it  is." 

Nick  had  not  bargained  for  this  transaction,  and  it  was 
the  last  thing  he  wanted. 


86  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"But  —  but  —  you're  not  leaving  yourself  enough,"  he 
objected. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  can  pay  for  my  ticket  as  far  as  my  first 
stopping-place.  Already  I've  written  the  bank  to  have 
money  to  meet  me  there,  and  it  will  be  in  time,  for  I  shall 
stay  in  that  town  several  days.  You  must  take  it  — 
really." 

He  could  not  refuse,  although  it  meant  that  he  would 
not  have  her  address,  or  an  excuse  for  giving  his.  Slowly 
he  drew  the  miniature  frame  out  from  an  inside  pocket  of 
his  coat.  "I  kept  it  there  so  as  to  be  sure  it  was  safe,"  he 
explained,  lest  the  lady  should  think  he  had  taken  a  liberty 
in  wearing  her  property  close  to  his  heart. 

Then,  with  many  more  thanks  from  Angela,  and  pro- 
testations on  his  part,  they  said  good-bye.  Although  the 
newspapers  had  told  her  that  Mr.  Hilliard  lived  near 
Bakersfield,  California,  she  had  no  association  with  that 
part  of  the  State,  and  it  seemed  improbable  to  Angela  that 
she  should  ever  meet  the  handsome  forest  creature  again. 
As  she  had  no  home  she  could  not,  even  if  it  seemed  best, 
invite  him  to  call  upon  her  at  some  future  time;  but  she 
felt  a  stirring  of  regret  that  her  travelling  adventure  was 
over  —  quite  over  —  now. 

After  that  she  had  not  much  time  to  think,  because 
there  were  things  to  do  before  she  took  the  train.  And 
then  she  was  in  the  express,  getting  settled  in  a  stateroom, 
which  would  be  hers  all  the  way  to  Los  Angeles.  Kate, 
who  was  to  have  a  berth  in  the  same  car,  arranged  her 
mistress's  things,  and  beamed  with  excitement  and  joy. 
They  were  really  going  West  now  —  she  and  Timmy  the 
cat:  and  going  West  meant  getting  nearer  and  nearer  to 


A  POLICE  MYSTERY  87 

Oregon.  Meanwhile  the  girl  was  happy,  for  she  adored 
Angela. 

When  Kate  had  finished  her  work  everything  was  de- 
lightfully compact  in  the  pretty  green  room,  which  was 
almost  as  big  as  Mrs.  May's  cabin  on  the  ship.  A  white 
silk  dressing-gown  hung  from  a  hook.  The  gold-backed 
brushes  and  crystal  bottles  from  her  fitted  bag  were 
arranged  conveniently.  There  were  lilies  of  the  valley  in 
a  vase. 

"Where  did  those  flowers  come  from?"  Angela  asked. 

"I  don't  know  ma'am.  I  found  them  here,"  said  Kate. 
"Perhaps  the  railway  people  supply  them  to  the  state- 
rooms." 

Perhaps  they  did.  But  Angela  suspected  something 
different.  She  was  touched  and  pleased.  He  must  have 
taken  some  trouble  in  getting  the  lilies  placed  in  the  right 
room.  And  it  was  like  him  not  to  have  come  forward 
himself  to  bid  her  good-bye.  But  —  suddenly  the  ques- 
tion sprang  into  her  head  —  how  had  he  found  out  that 
she  was  travelling  in  this  train? 

All  the  afternoon  she  watched  the  Louisiana  planta- 
tions, lakes,  and  bayous  fly  by  in  sunshine  and  shadow; 
or  she  read  a  novel  of  the  South  as  it  had  been  in  old  days. 
It  was  an  interesting  story  and  held  her  attention  so  closely 
that  she  was  late  in  going  to  dinner.  When  at  last  she 
went  there  was  only  one  chair  left,  at  a  table  for  two.  Mr. 
Nickson  Hilliard  sat  in  the  other. 


vm 

THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY 

IF  EVER  there  was  a  blush  of  guilt,  it  was  Nick's. 

Angela  lifted  her  eyebrows,  though  she  smiled.  It 
would  have  been  ungracious  not  to  smile,  and  Angela 
hated  to  be  ungracious.  All  the  youth  in  her  was  glad 
to  see  him  again;  but  all  that  was  conventional,  all  that 
responded  to  her  early  training,  disapproved  of  his  presence. 

"This  is  very  unexpected!"  she  exclaimed,  wondering 
if  he  would  say  it  was  a  surprise  to  him,  almost  hoping 
that  he  might  say  so,  because  she  could  then  seem  to 
accept  his  word;  which  would  save  bother. 

Nick  hung  his  head.  He  jumped  up  when  Mrs.  May 
was  shown  to  the  table,  and  did  not  sit  down  again  until 
she  was  seated.  Now  he  disappointed  Angela  by  making 
no  attempt  to  defend  himself.  "Will  you  please  forgive 
me?"  he  begged. 

This  forced  Angela  to  be  stern,  and  she  decided  to  spare 
him  no  pang. 

"Forgive  you  for  what?"  she  asked. 

"For  coming,"  he  answered  to  the  first  turn  of  the  rack. 

She  was  coldly  puzzled.  "But  —  do  you  mean  your 
being  in  this  train?  Surely  that  can  have  nothing  to  do 
with  me." 

Nick  was  silent  for  a  moment.     The  dining-car  was  full, 


THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  89 

and  the  waiters  all  busy.  No  one  had  come  to  take  Mrs. 
May's  order.  Gathering  his  mental  forces  he  resolved 
upon  honesty  as  the  best  and  only  policy.  '  'Twould  be 
easy  enough  to  say  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  you;  that 
I'd  have  been  travelling  by  this  train  to-day,  anyhow," 
he  began  bravely.  "The  fact  is,  I  came  on  board  meanin* 
to  try  and  make  you  think  so,  without  exactly  tellin'  lies. 
But  you've  asked  me  a  straight  question,  and  I've  just 
got  to  answer  it  straight,  even  if  you  refuse  to  speak 
to  me  ever  again.  I'm  here  because  you're  here,  Mrs. 
May.  But  I  promise  I  won't  trouble  you.  And  maybe 
you  won't  believe  me,  after  my  tellin'  you  this,  but  it's 
true;  I  didn't  intend  ever  to  let  you  see  me  to-night, 
and  maybe  not  the  whole  journey.  I  only  wanted  to  be 
on  the  same  train  and  then,  supposin'  you  should  happen 
to  need  help  any  way,  I'd  be  ready." 

"But  —  that's  rather  too  much  self-sacrifice,"  said 
Angela,  looking  him  full  in  the  face  with  her  dark-lashed, 
slate-gray  eyes.  "I'm  not  alone.  I  have  my  maid.  I 
shan't  need  help." 

"I  guess  you  know  I'm  not  making  a  self-sacrifice," 
Nick  said  honestly.  "I'd  be  gladder  than  glad  to  do 
anything  for  the  first  angel  I  ever  met  on  earth.  But  please 
don't  be  worrying,  Mrs.  May.  This  ain't  any  hold-up. 
I  won't  come  near  you,  unless  you  happen  to  need  a  man 
to  look  after  you.  I'll  fade  away  this  minute,  if " 

"Certainly  not!"  cried  Angela.  "It  was  your  table 
before  it  was  mine.  But  —  I  don't  understand  yet.  I 
think  it  would  have  been  better  if  you'd  finished  your  visit 
to  New  Orleans." 

"I  was  sure  there  for  the  same  reason  I'm  here,"  Nick 


90  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

blurted  out.  "I  guess  I  have  to  tell  you  the  whole  thing 
now." 

"You  mean — you  came  to  New  Orleans  because  I  — 

"Yes,  that's  right,"  he  finished  for  her,  when  she  paused, 
at  a  loss  for  words.  "Something  made  me  do  it.  Some- 
thing stronger  than  I  am.  You  were  a  kind  of  dissolving 
view,  and  I  couldn't  let  it  get  out  of  my  sight  for  good. 
When  I  heard  you'd  gone  to  New  Orleans  by  boat  — 

"How  did  you  find  out?"  Angela's  sweet  voice  had 
a  sharp  edge. 

"In  the  travel  bureau  of  the  Valmont  Hotel." 

"Ah!     Was  that  quite  —  considerate? " 

"I  know  how  it  sounds  to  you.  But  it  wasn't  so  bad 
as  you  think.  I  inquired  as  if  from  a  friend  of  yours, 
a  man  I  know  out  home " 

"How  —  how  horrid  of  you!  I'd  rather  you  didn't 
explain  any  more."  Angela's  cheeks  were  bright  pink, 
and  she  was  more  beautiful  than  Nick  had  ever  seen  her 
before,  except  the  night  of  the  burglar,  when  she  had  been 
drowned  in  the  gold  waves  of  her  hair,  the  angel  of  his 
dreams.  "But  you  may  go  on  about  the  rest,"  she  added 
hastily,  when  he  was  struck  into  silence,  without  being  able 
to  bring  in  the  name  of  his  one  excuse,  Mr.  Henry  More- 
house.  "I'd  better  know  the  worst.  When  you  heard 
where  I'd  gone " 

"Well,  I  was  too  late  for  your  ship,  because  I  had  to 
hang  on  and  see  Dutchy's  case  through,  so  I  took  the 
first  train  I  could  get  when  that  business  was  wound  up. 
And  in  New  Orleans  I  found  you.  I  didn't  know  for  cer- 
tain where  you  were  going  next,  but " 

"But  what?" 


THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  91 

"I  was  pretty  sure  you  were  bound  for  California. 
And  anyhow,  wherever  it  was,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go. 
Not  to  bother  you  —  no  more  than  if  I  was  your  hired  man. 
Just  to  see  you  through,  from  a  distance,  to  know  you 
were  all  right,  and  —  and  not  to  lose  sight  of  you.  I  —  of 
course  you  can't  understand.  I  reckon  no  woman  could. 
I  don't  wonder  you're  mad.  I  was  dead  sure  you  would 
be.  Yet  I  had  to  stand  for  it." 

"It's  the  most  extraordinary  thing  I  ever  heard,"  said 
Angela,  working  herself  up  to  be  as  angry  as  she  ought  to 
be.  "That  you  should  have  left  New  York,  after  being 
there  only  a  few  days,  and  —  oh,  it  doesn't  bear  thinking 
of !  And  I'd  rather  not  believe  it." 

Again  Nick  wished  to  wave  the  name  of  Morehouse  like 
a  white  flag  of  truce,  but  the  San  Franciscan  lawyer,  lying 
far  away  in  a  New  York  hospital,  seemed  too  weak  to 
flutter  in  the  breeze  of  Mrs.  May's  displeasure. 

"I'd  rather  have  jogged  along  without  tellin'  you 
this,"  he  said.  "But  as  things  worked  out,  it  seemed  as 
if  I  had  to  speak." 

Angela  was  silent,  busily  thinking  for  a  moment. 

"Would  you  leave  the  train  at  the  next  stop,  if  I  asked 
you?  "  she  inquired. 

"No.  I'd  be  real  sorry,  but  I  wouldn't  do  that,  even 
if  you  asked."  And  here  was  his  chance  to  use  Mr.  More- 
house  —  a  chance  which  might  never  come  again.  "I  was 
going  to  tell  you,  I  do  know  a  man  who's  acquainted 
with  you,  Mrs.  May.  We  came  East  together.  His  name's 
Morehouse,  and  when  he  was  taken  sick,  I  went  to  see  him, 
and  —  and  had  a  little  talk  —  all  the  nurses  would  let  me 
have.  I  wanted  him  to  write  a  note  I  could  give  you  in 


92  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

New  Orleans,  but  he  wasn't  strong  enough.  He  did  say  I 
could  mention  his  name  when  I  told  him  I  meant  to  go 
back  West  and  look  after  you;  but  somehow  it  never 
seemed  the  right  time  in  New  Orleans.  And  now,  when 
I  began  to  explain  how  I  inquired  about  you  at  the  Val- 
mont,  as  if  it  was  from  Morehouse,  you  didn't ' 

"I  felt  there  could  be  no  explanation  I'd  care  to  hear," 
Angela  finished  for  him.  "I  beg  your  pardon!  Still  I 
don't  see  why  you  should  take  Mr.  Morehouse's  responsi- 
bilities on  your  shoulders  — »for  my  sake." 

" No,  you'll  never  see  that,"  Nick  sighed.  "Only,  if  you 
could  just  see  your  way  to  forgiving  me,  I  should  be  mighty 
thankful.  I  promise  to  switch  off  till  you  send  for  me. 
I'm  in  the  next  car  to  yours,  if  you  should  need  to  —  if 
there's  anything  I  could  do,  between  here  and  Los 
Angeles " 

"How  do  you  know  my  journey  ends  there?  Did  Mr. 
Morehouse  tell  you  that,  too?" 

"When  he  and  I  were  travelling  East,  he  said  Mrs. 
May  had  the  notion  to  see  California;  and  I  thought  you'd 
be  sure  to  begin  with  Los  Angeles." 

"You,  no  doubt,  will  go  on  to  Bakersfield,"  remarked 
Angela  coldly,  making  a  statement  rather  than  putting 
a  question. 

"I  suppose  so,  pretty  soon,"  Nick  assented,  too  crushed 
by  the  angel's  displeasure  to  be  flattered  because  she 
remembered  where  he  lived. 

"Of  course  you  will,  at  once,"  she  announced  relent- 
lessly. "  Meanwhile,  I  hold  you  to  your  word,  Mr.  Hilliard. 
It  was  —  wrong  of  you  to  come,  and  knowing  Mr.  Henry 
Morehouse  —  of  whom  I  never  heard  till  after  I  landed  — 


THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  93 

doesn't  make  it  much  more  —  sensible.  I'm  sure  your 
motives  were  —  most  kind.  But  —  you've  made  a  mistake, 
as  you  must  realize  now,  and  the  only  way  to  atone  is  to 
—  to " 

"I  know.  Keep  out  of  your  way.  And  I've  promised. 
But  I  don't  realize  that  I've  made  a  mistake,  Mrs.  May. 
There's  no  use  sayin'  I  do;  for,  in  spite  of  all,  if  'twas  to 
do  over  again,  I  would.  I  wouldn't  change  anything." 

"Then  you  shouldn't  boast  of  it!"  exclaimed  Angela. 
"Confession  may  be  good  for  the  soul  of  the  confessor, 
but  it  can  be  embarrassing  for  the  one  confessed  to.  You 
oughtn't  to  have  told  me  why  you  came.  The  only  thing 
to  save  the  situation  would  have  been  to  let  me  think  it 
was  an  accident." 

"You  wouldn't  have  thought  so  long  —  unless  I  lied. 
Ought  I  to  have  lied?" 

She  was  rather  thankful  that  the  waiter  came  just  then 
with  the  menu,  and  saved  her  from  answering.  She 
ordered  her  dinner,  and  the  smiling  negro  turned  to  Nick. 

"I  don't  think  I  want "  he  began.  But  Angela 

sternly  caught  his  eye,  mutely  commanding  him  to  eat. 
When  he  had  chosen  several  dishes  at  random,  and  the 
waiter  had  gone,  she  reproached  him  again.  "  What  would 
people  think  if  you  went  away  in  the  midst  of  dinner? 
There's  a  man  opposite  staring  at  us  now!  You're  not 
as  tactful  as  you  were  the  night  of  the  burglar.  Then, 
you  did  just  the  right  thing,  cleverly  and  bravely.  For 
that  I  can  forgive  you  a  good  deal  —  but  not  everything. 
Now  you  make  one  blunder  after  another." 

"  That  night  in  New  York  you  wanted  me.  This  time 
you  don't.  I  guess  that's  what  makes  the  difference  in  the 


94  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

quality  of  my  gray  matter,"  said  Nick.  "I  feel  riddled 
with  bullets,  and  they've  hit  me  right  where  I  live.  I  —  I 
suppose  you'll  never  forgive  me,  will  you?  If  you  only 
half  guessed  how  little  I  meant  to  butt  in,  or  be  rude,  or 
annoy  you,  maybe  you  could,  though." 

"Maybe  I  can  —  by  and  by;  for  the  sake  of  your  kind- 
ness in  the  past."  Angela  relented.  "But  not  even  for 
that  quite  yet.  And  not  ever,  if  you  look  so  stricken  that 
you  make  people  stare." 

"I  am  stricken,"  Nick  confessed. 

"You  deserve  to  be."  She  crushed  him  deeper  into  the 
mire.  Whereupon  the  soup  arrived,  and  they  began  to 
eat,  .and  talk  politely.  Nick  had  never  known  before  that 
a  man  could  be  wildly  happy  and  desperately  miserable  at 
the  same  time,  but  now  he  knew.  And  he  would  not  have 
changed  places  with  any  other  man  in  the  world.  "I'm 
under  a  spell,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  I  wouldn't  get  out 
of  it  if  I  could." 

At  the  same  moment  Angela  conjectured  that  there 
must  be  something  strange  about  the  air  she  was  breathing 
in  this  New  World.  "It  makes  one  want  to  act  queerly," 
she  thought.  "I'm  sure  I  should  have  acted  quite  dif- 
ferently about  this  whole  affair  in  Europe.  It's  so  easy  to 
feel  conventional  in  places  where  you've  always  lived,  and 
where  you  know  everybody.  Or  is  it  only  because  this 
man's  so  different  from  any  one  else?  I  thought  I  was 
beginning  to  understand  his  nature,  but  now  I  see  I  don't. 
The  thing  is,  I  was  too  nice  to  him.  I  oughtn't  to  have 
asked  him  to  lunch  and  dine  in  New  Orleans.  That  began 
the  mischief.  And  it  was  my  fault  more  than  his." 

But  then,  according  to  the  man's  own  confession,  the 


THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  95 

mischief  had  begun  in  New  York.  "I  wish  I  could  make 
myself  enjoy  snubbing  the  extraordinary  creature,"  she 
went  on,  as  she  ate  her  dinner,  throwing  an  occasional 
sentence  concerning  the  scenery,  or,  as  a  last  resort,  the 
weather,  to  her  chastened  companion.  "  But  it's  difficult 
to  snub  a  person  who's  saved  your  life  and  lent  you  money 
and  found  your  gold  bag.  That's  why  he  oughtn't  to 
have  put  me  in  this  position — because  I  owe  him  gratitude. 
It's  really  horrid."  And  she  began  to  feel  sincerely  that 
the  New  Type  had  conducted  itself  unworthily. 

She  gave  Nick  a  cool  bow  when  she  was  ready  to  go, 
and  left  him  plunged  in  gloom,  but  stubbornly  unre- 
pentant. "It's  a  tough  proposition  I'm  up  against,"  he 
thought,  "but  a  man's  as  good  as  his  nerve.  And  I'll 
fight  till  the  next  spring  rains  sooner  than  let  her  slip  away 
out  of  my  life." 

It  was  deep  blue  dusk  when  Angela  went  back  to  her 
stateroom,  too  dark  to  look  out  of  the  window;  yet 
she  had  lost  interest  in  the  book  which  she  had  found  ab- 
sorbing earlier  in  the  day.  It  seemed  irrelevant  somehow; 
and  though  there  was  no  reason  why  they  should  do  so,  her 
own^iffairs  appeared  more  insistently  exciting  than  before. 
"It's  the  call  of  the  West  already,"  she  answered  her  own 
question.  "I  hear  the  voice  of  my  father's  country." 

And  then  her  thoughts  returned  to  Nick. 

"I  wonder  what  he  is  doing  now  —  whether  I  made  him 
see  the  error  of  his  ways?"  she  asked  herself,  stroking 
Timmy,  lent  by  Kate.  And  she  was  not  sorry  for  the 
forest  creature:  not  sorry  at  all.  It  was  stupid  even  to 
think  of  him.  But  in  her  lap,  a  splendid  plaything  for 
the  black  cat,  was  the  gold  bag.  It  seemed  associated 


96  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

with  Mr.  Hilliard  now.  Odd,  how  different  it  looked 
since  she  had  got  it  back!  Bigger,  somehow,  though,  of 
course,  it  was  the  same.  There  couldn't  have  been  a  mis- 
take. Almost  mechanically  she  began  to  count  the  jewels 
set  along  the  mouth  of  the  bag.  Fifteen  sapphires  — 
fifteen  diamonds.  Why,  there  had  been  only  twenty-eight 
altogether!  She  was  sure  of  that.  She  had  counted 
them  before,  in  absent-minded  moments.  What  could 
this  mean?  Suddenly  an  explanation  of  what  it  might 
mean  flashed  into  her  head.  The  theory  seemed  too 
elaborate  —  yet  it  would  account  for  the  mystery  Hilliard 
had  made  of  the  whole  matter,  and  his  anxiety  that  she 
should  not  interview  the  police,  or  come  into  contact 
with  them.  And  the  five  hundred  dollars  —  more  money 
than  ought  to  have  been  in  the  bag.  She  recalled  now 
having  mentioned  that  sum  in  telling  of  her  loss.  And  the 
forest  creature  had  said  that  he  "knew  exactly  what  her 
bag  was  like."  If  he  had  found  a  duplicate,  and  palmed 
it  off  upon  her,  the  absence  of  the  check-book  and  the  pres- 
ence of  the  money  without  the  purse  would  be  explained. 
But  could  he  have  found  a  bag,  ready-made,  so  like  the 
lost  one  as  to  deceive  her  until  now?  She  must  question 
him  at  once.  Yet,  with  her  finger  on  the  bell,  ready  to 
summon  the  porter,  she  paused.  Only  half  an  hour  ago 
she  had  forbidden  Mr.  Hilliard  to  come  near  her.  Now 
she  was  about  to  send  for  him.  This  would  appear  to  be  a 
triumph  for  the  enemy.  "  But  I'll  soon  show  him  it  isn't 
a  triumph,"  she  thought,  and  pushed  the  electric  button. 
"  In  the  car  between  this  and  the  dining-car,  there's  a 
Mr.  Hilliard,"  she  announced  when  the  porter  arrived. 
"Please  ask  him  to  come  and  speak  to  Mrs.  May." 


THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  97 

"Yes,  miss,  I'll  tell  the  gen'leman  with  pleasure," 
replied  the  elderly  negro,  trotting  off  to  cry  aloud  a  name 
more  or  less  resembling  Hilliard. 

Nick,  not  daring  to  hope  that  luck  might  change  so 
soon,  had  drifted  into  the  observation  car;  but  a  man 
answered  to  the  call,  beckoning  the  porter. 

"Sure  you  understood  the  name  right,  George?"  he 
inquired.  "  My  name's  Millard.  What  kind  of  a  looking 
lady  is  this  Mrs.  May?  " 

The  black  porter,  who  was  not  George,  but  who  had 
answered  to  the  name  a  thousand  times,  smiled  a  smile 
like  a  diamond  tiara.  "She  sure  is  the  prettiest  young 
lady  I  evah  see,  sah,"  said  he.  "Most  ob  dese  wite  ladies 
look  jest  alike  to  me.  I  cyant  tell  one  ob  dere  faces  from 
de  odders.  But  dis  one  —  my !  I  won't  forget  her  in  a 
month  o'  Sundays." 

"I  know  who  you  mean  now,  and  I  guess  it's  Millard 
she  inquired  for,"  said  the  gentleman  of  that  name.  "  You 
got  it  a  little  mixed." 

So  a  minute  or  two  later  Angela  had  her  second  surprise 
of  the  evening.  Expecting  Nick,  and  with  her  first  shot 
prepared,  she  saw  at  her  stateroom  door  a  man  as  different 
as  night  from  day  —  the  man  who  had  stared  in  the  dining- 
car.  He  had  a  dyed  black  moustache,  like  the  brand  of 
Cain,  and  an  air  of  thinking  that  women  and  other  animals 
of  the  chase  were  made  for  him  to  hunt. 

"Mrs.  May,  I  believe?"  he  began  politely.  "I'm 
Mr.  Millard.  I  think  you  sent  for  me.  We've  met  some- 
where before,  and " 

Angela  explained  matters  coldly,  in  three  words; 
though  she  fancied  that  no  explanation  was  needed. 


98  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Mr.  Millard  showed  signs  of  seeking  an  excuse  to  linger, 
but  none  was  granted.  Even  Timmy  was  in  a  dangerous 
mood,  and,  as  Kate  appeared,  on  her  way  back  from  dinner, 
the  gentleman  from  the  next  car  retired  in  good  order. 

"  You  saw  Mr.  Hilliard,  who  brought  my  —  a  gold  bag 
to  the  sitting-room  in  New  Orleans?"  Angela  said  to 
Kate.  "He's  in  the  car  between  this  and  the  dining-car. 
Please  find  him,  and  let  him  know  that  I  should  like  to  see 
him  here." 

Kate's  quest  produced  Nick;  and  Mrs.  May  did  not 
mention  Mr.  Millard.  She  fired  her  shot  without  warning. 

"This  is  not  my  gold  bag." 

Nick's  jaw  squared  itself.     "It  is  your  bag,"  he  insisted. 

"  Mine  had  twenty -eight  stones.  This  has  thirty.  How 
is  that  to  be  explained?  " 

"How  should  I  tell?"  he  echoed,  bold  as  brass.  "It's 
a  question  for  the  police."  She  had  scolded  him  for  con- 
fessing. He  would  not  court  the  lash  again. 

"I  wonder  if  you  couldn't  tell  —  if  you  would?  I  insist, 
Mr.  Hilliard,  that  you  give  me  the  whole  truth,  if  you  know 
it.  And  I  think  you  must  know." 

"I  warned  you  there  was  a  mystery,"  he  mumbled. 

"You  gave  me  the  impression  that  it  was  a  police 
mystery.  Now  I  believe  it  was  of  your  making.  A  little 
while  ago  you  asked  me  to  forgive  you.  Don't  you  see  I 
never  can,  unless  you  tell  the  truth  about  this  wretched 
bag?" 

"A  little  while  ago  you  wouldn't  forgive  me  because  I 
did  tell  the  truth." 

She  answered  like  a  woman.  "  That's  entirely  different." 
And  dimly  Nick  realized  that  it  would  be  worse  than  use- 


THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  99 

less  to  ask  why.  Queer  how  a  woman  seemed  to  want 
only  the  things  you  were  just  out  of! 

"You  —  bought  this  bag,"  she  stated. 

"Oh,  well,  it's  no  use!"  groaned  Nick.  "Once  I 
thought  'twas  a  fake  about  little  George  Washington;  but 
I  see  now  it  can  be  harder  to  tell  lies  than  truth  to  some 
people.  I  can't  tell  one  to  you,"  the  prisoner  in  the  dock 
confessed.  "I  did  buy  the  bag,  but  when  yours  is  found, 
they'll  send  it  on  to  me.  Then  we  can  change." 

"It  will  never  be  found.  Oh,  how  could  you?  —  and 
the  five  hundred  dollars !  —  your  money.  How  idiotic 
of  me  —  and  how  you  must  have  laughed  when  I  paid 
you  back  the  four  hundred  I  owed  —  out  of  your  own 
pocket." 

"I  never  felt  less  like  laughing  in  my  life  than  I  did  then. 
Unless  it's  now." 

"You  can't  feel  as  distressed  as  you've  made  me  feel. 
I  still  owe  you  the  four  hundred;  and  another  hundred 
besides.  That  makes  up  the  five.  And  the  worst  of  all 
is,  I  can't  pay  you  till  Los  Angeles.  But  here  is  the  bag." 

"Do  you  hate  me  so  much  you've  got  to  give  it  back?" 
Nick's  eyes  implored  mercy  from  the  court. 

"I'm  more  vexed  than  I  can  tell.  This  is  beyond 
everything!  Please  take  your  bag  at  once." 

"I  swore  just  now  it  was  your  bag.     And  it  is." 

"Surely,  it's  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you  I 
can't  keep  it?  " 

She  held  the  bag  out  to  him,  and  when  he  would  have 
none  of  it,  forced  the  soft  gold  mesh  into  his  hand.  He 
let  the  thing  drop,  and  at  the  instant  of  its  fall  Kate  re- 
turned, hovering  uncertainly.  She  supposed  that  Mrs. 


100  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

May's  visitor  had  gone  by  this  time,  and  had  come  to  ask 
for  a  promised  book. 

"Kate,  there's  been  a  mistake."  Angela  said.  "This 
gold  bag  isn't  mine  after  all,  though  they  look  so  much 
alike.  Please  pick  it  up  from  the  floor  and  give  it  to 
Mr.  Billiard." 

These  tactics  overmastered  Nick.  He  could  not  let  a 
woman,  be  she  maid  or  mistress,  grovel  on  the  carpet  in 
his  presence.  He  dived  for  the  bag,  and,  pale  and  troubled, 
handed  it  to  Kate.  "It  seems  this  has  got  to  be  name," 
he  stammered.  "But  I  don't  want  it.  Will  you  take 
the  thing?  If  you  won't,  it  goes  out  of  the  window,  sure 
as  fate." 

"Oh,  ma'am,  what  will  I  do?"  cried  Kate.  "Why, 
it's  a  rale  fortune !  I  —  must  I  let  him  throw  it  out  the 
window?  What  all  them  jewels  and  gold  would  mean  to 
me  and  Tim  —  the  difference  in  our  lives !  If  I  won't  have 
the  bag  some  wicked  tramp  may  find  and  sell  it  for  drink." 

"Do  as  you  choose.  It  has  ceased  to  be  my  affair," 
said  Angela. 

"Are  you  sure  you'd  fling  the  bag  away,  sir,  if  I  say  no 
to  it?  "  the  Irish  girl  implored. 

"Dead  sure." 

"Then  —  oh,  I  must  take  it!  I  can't  give  it  up  to  a 
tramp,  when  'twould  buy  Tim  and  me  a  home.  You 
must  be  a  millionaire,  sir,  throwing  away  good  money  like 
that." 

"I've  got  more  than  I  know  what  to  do  with,  good  or 
bad,"  said  Nick,  drowned  in  gloom.  "Thank  you  very 
much  for  taking  it.  It's  real  kind  of  you.  And  it's  a 
comfort  to  me  the  thing'll  be  of  use  to  some  one." 


THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  101 

He  looked  at  Angela,  but  she  would  not  see  him.  And 
without  another  word  he  effaced  himself. 

"I  suppose  that  snuffs  me  out,"  he  muttered,  dolefully, 
returning  to  his  own  car.  Almost,  he  was  minded  to 
leave  the  train  in  Texas  —  to  go  on  by  another;  or  to 
return  to  New  York  and  do  what  he  could  to  forget  the 
hard-hearted  angel.  But  he  did  not  leave  the  train.  He 
went  on  doggedly.  "I'm  hanged  if  I  give  up,"  was  his 
last  thought.  "It's  no  soft  snap,  but  I'll  make  her  for- 
give me  before  we're  through." 

"You'll  not  be  cross  with  me,  ma'am  because  I  couldn't 
be  lettin'  him  throw  away  the  beautiful  bag?"  Kate 
coaxed  her  mistress.  "  I  seen  he  would  ha'  done  it.  There 
was  fire  in  his  eyes." 

"Yes,  he  would  have  done  it,"  Angela  echoed.  "I'm 
not  cross  with  you,  though  I  hoped  you  would  refuse. 
I'd  no  right  to  dictate  when  it  meant  your  sacrificing  a 
lot  of  money  —  a  hundred  pounds  at  least,  which  would  go 
begging  unless  you  accepted." 

"A  hundred  pounds!"  the  girl  stammered.  "Oh,  I 
didn't  know  the  bag  was  worth  the  half  of  that!  Will  I 
give  it  back  to  the  gentleman?" 

"It's  too  late.  There  would  only  be  a  scene.  He'd 
refuse  to  take  the  thing." 

Kate  looked  relieved.  "Then  I'll  just  try  and  sell  it  in 
the  first  big  city  where  we're  stopping  ma'am,"  she  said, 
with  a  happy  sigh.  "You  tould  me  a  black  cat  brought 
luck!" 

Angela  neither  slept  well  nor  lay  awake  well  that  night. 
Whenever  she  closed  her  eyes  she  seemed  to  meet  Nick 
Hilliard's  beseeching  look;  and  next  day,  angrily  pushing 


102  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

him  and  his  problems  out  of  her  mind,  she  devoted  herself 
passionately  to  scenery.  He  must  have  taken  his  meals 
very  early  or  very  late,  or  else  had  none  at  all,  for  not 
once  did  she  see  him  in  the  dining-car.  The  following  day 
at  luncheon,  however,  he  was  going  out  as  she  came  in. 
She  bowed  to  him  coldly,  but  her  heart  beat  as  if  some- 
thing exciting  had  happened.  That  night  she  forgot  to 
set  back  her  watch,  and  so  went  to  dinner  earlier  than 
usual.  Not  far  ahead,  also  bound  for  the  dining-car,  was 
Mr.  Hilliard.  She  disliked  the  large  tables  laid  for  four; 
and  when  he  could,  her  favourite  waiter  kept  a  place  for 
Mrs.  May  at  a  small  table  for  two  persons.  Often  she  got 
one  to  herself,  but  this  evening,  as  she  sat  down,  Mr. 
Millard  appropriated  the  other  chair.  Had  he  not  been 
rather  stout,  he  would  have  squeezed  himself  into  place 
before  she  could  protest;  but  being  a  tight  fit,  inadver- 
tently he  gave  her  time  to  think. 

"This  seat  is  engaged,"  she  said,  raising  her  voice  to 
reach  the  ears  of  Mr.  Nickson  Hilliard.  He  turned  and 
saw  invitation  in  her  eyes.  "I'm  keeping  your  chair," 
she  calmly  informed  him  —  since  between  two  evils  it  is 
wise  to  choose  the  less. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Nick,  as  quietly  as  if  it  had  been  a 
long  engagement. 

"Did  that  galoot  annoy  you?"  he  asked,  dropping 
into  the  seat* 

"No,"  said  Angela.  "But  I  preferred  you  for  a  neigh- 
bour." 

Having  explained  her  motives,  she  made  it  clear  that 
conversation  was  not  included,  and  Nick,  knowing  that  a 
man  in  disgrace  should  be  seen  and  not  heard,  was  silent. 


THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY  103 

When  Mrs.  May  had  finished  a  light  meal,  she  unbent  far 
enough  to  say:  "It  was  clever  —  and  kind  of  you  to 
understand.  One  thing  more !  I  must  have  your  address 
at  Bakersfield,  to  send  the  money." 

Then  Nick  told  her  that  he  lived  on  a  ranch  a  good 
many  miles  from  Bakersfield.  "I  call  it  the  'Lucky 
Star  Ranch,'  "  he  added. 

"I'll  write  you  from  Los  Angeles,"  said  she,  and  became 
conscious  that  her  last  words  had  been  overheard  by 
Mr.  Millard.  He  had  seated  himself  at  a  table  close  by, 
and  now  glanced  up  with  such  an  intelligent  look  that  she 
was  sure  he  had  taken  in  something  of  the  situation. 

When  the  journey  through  Texas,  New  Mexico,  and 
Arizona  was  over,  and  the  train  slowed  into  the  station  at 
Los  Angeles,  she  had  cause  to  remember  this  incident,  for 
Millard  was  on  the  car  steps,  just  in  front  of  her.  He 
caught  up  the  large  dressing-bag  which  the  porter  had 
carried  out  of  her  stateroom,  and,  looking  back,  said: 

"It's  my  turn  to  help  you  a  little  now,  Mrs.  May,  since 
your  friend's  going  on  farther.  You're  English,  I  guess; 
and  if  you  haven't  got  anybody  to  show  you  around  here, 
you  must  let  me  make  myself  useful." 

"I  would  rather  the  porter  took  all  my  luggage,  please," 
replied  Angela,  glancing  about  for  her  black  friend.  But 
doubtless  Mr.  Millard  had  claimed  authority,  and 
"George"  was  giving  his  services  to  some  one  else. 

"  Porter  isn't  here.  You'd  better  let  me  look  after  you, 
and  get  a  carriage,"  said  Millard,  whose  legitimate  busi- 
ness it  was  to  travel  for  a  manufacturing  firm. 

The  train  stopped,  and  he  jumped  off  with  Angela's 
dressing-bag,  but  only  in  time  to  have  it  taken  in  a  business- 


104  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

like  manner  by  Nick,  who  had  swung  down  from  his  own 
car  while  the  train  was  still  in  motion. 

"It  just  occurred  to  me  you  might  be  giving  yourself 
a  little  unnecessary  trouble,"  said  he.  "I'll  see  to  this 
lady." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  on,"  stammered  the  com- 
mercial traveller. 

"Not  just  yet,"  Nick  spoke  mildly,  but  his  eyes  looked 
dangerous,  and  Mr.  Millard  thought  best  to  give  up  the 
point  without  further  argument. 

"I  always  have  to  thank  you  for  something!  It's  too 
bad!"  laughed  Angela,  as  Nick  put  her  and  Kate  into  a 
carriage  which  he  had  secured.  "Good-bye;  I  suppose 
it's  fated  that  I  must  forgive  you,  as  we  shan't  see  each 
other  again." 

With  this  she  put  out  her  hand,  hah*  friendly,  hah* 
reluctant,  and  as  Nick  shook  it  eagerly,  the  train  moved 
away. 

Angela  gave  a  little  cry.  "Now  I've  made  you  miss 
your  train!  And  your  luggage!" 

"I  won't  howl  about  that,"  said  he.  "I'll  wire.  And  I 
can  get  another  train  by  and  by  —  when  I  want  it,"  he 
added  under  his  breath.  Then  he  let  the  carriage  drive 
away. 


IX 
THE  LAST  ACT  OF  THE  GOLD  BAG  COMEDY 

"MAY  I  go  out,  ma'am,  and  see  what  they'll  be  givm* 
me  for  the  gold  bag?  "  Kate  asked,  when  the  unpacking  — 
for  a  few  days  —  was  done  at  a  Los  Angeles  hotel. 

This  was  a  sore  subject  with  Angela.  She  believed  that 
she  disliked  the  bag;  but  also  she  disliked  having  it  ga 
out  of  her  life  beyond  recall.  "Think  of  the  money  he 
spent,  and  the  trouble  he  took!"  something  seemed  to 
moan  in  her  mind.  But  with  an  impersonal  air  she  gave 
Kate  permission,  dismissing  the  past  as  represented  by 
the  Hilliard  incident,  and  plunging  into  the  joy  of  arrang- 
ing future  motor-cars  and  trains  —  a  future  which  was  to 
concern  her,  and  Kate,  and  Kate's  cat  alone,  not  Mr. 
Hilliard. 

A  singularly  sympathetic  and  apparently  intelligent 
hotel  clerk  not  only  advised  a  motor  for  sightseeing  in 
the  neighbourhood,  but  recommended  one  owned  and 
invented  by  a  friend.  It  was  a  "clipper,"  he  said;  could 
do  anything  but  climb  trees  or  jump  brooks,  and  might  be 
hired  by  Mrs.  May,  at  a  reasonable  price,  for  a  day,  a 
week,  a  month,  a  year.  Angela  felt  bound  to  say  that  she 
should  like  to  see  it;  and  —  almost  before  the  last  word 
was  out  of  her  mouth  —  the  garage  was  rung  up  by  tele- 
phone. 

105 


106  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

The  car  arrived  with  startling  promptness,  and  if 
Angela  had  been  given  time  to  think  it  might  have 
occurred  to  her  that  there  was  not,  perhaps,  as  much 
competition  for  this  new  invention  as  the  hotel  clerk  had 
implied.  The  inventor,  who  was  driver  and  chauffeur  as 
well,  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  a  sulky  codfish,  but 
his  half-boiled  eyes  lighted  up  and  glittered  (even  as  his 
car  glittered  with  blue  paint),  at  the  prospect  of  business. 
Other  vehicles  were  now  being  produced  by  a  firm  who 
had  bought  his  patent,  said  he,  but  at  present  his  own; 
appropriately  named  the  "Model,"  was  the  "only  one 
running."  He  lifted  the  brilliant  bonnet,  and  revealed 
intricate  things,  all  new  and  silvery  and  glistening  like 
crystallized  sugar.  Angela  fell  an  easy  victim.  She  knew 
nothing  about  the  mechanical  virtues  and  vices  of  cars, 
though  she  had  two  at  home  for  her  own  use,  and  the 
Prince  a  dozen,  valued  only  less  than  his  aeroplanes. 
Hers  had  been  gray  and  dark  green.  She  had  always 
wanted  a  blue  car,  and  this  was  a  lovely  colour.  Though 
she  was  no  more  vain  than  a  pretty  young  woman  ought 
to  be,  she  consented  to  an  experimental  run,  with  an 
undertone  of  conviction  that  the  car  would  become  her  as 
a  background. 

As  she  made  her  decision,  Kate  arrived,  breathless  with 
the  excitement  of  bargaining,  to  find  her  mistress  on  the 
curbstone. 

"Oh,  ma'am!"  she  panted.  "I've  done  it!  I've  got 
five  hundred  dollars  in  me  pocket!" 

"And  they've  got  the  bag,"  Angela  regretfully  mur- 
mured. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  they  have.     Unless  they've  sold  it  since. 


LAST  ACT  OF  THE  COMEDY  107 

Such  a  fine  jewellery  shop.  The  name  an  Oirish  one,  and 
I  went  there  first,  for  luck.  Then  I  tried  another  place, 
but  they  offered  less,  and  I  ran  back  to  Barrymore's. 
They  said  'twas  a  splendid  bag,  and  they'd  'a  give  more, 
but  they  haven't  the  same  call  for  the  article  as  if  'twas 
Paris  or  New  York;  and  they  must  make  their  profit." 

"No  doubt  they  will  make  it,"  Angela  almost  snapped. 
She  felt  as  a  certain  type  of  woman  feels  on  hearing  that 
the  first  man  who  ever  proposed  to  her  has  married  some 
one  else.  And  when  the  codfish,  whose  name  was  Sealman, 
asked  her  where  she  would  go  for  a  trial  spin,  she  said  that 
he  might  take  her  to  the  shop  of  Barrymore  the  jeweller. 
But  that  was  when  Kate  had  disappeared  into  the 
hotel. 

The  automobile  ran  quietly,  and  the  springs,  as  the  cod- 
fish said,  were  "grasshoppers."  The  motor  made  a 
pleasant  purring,  not  much  louder  than  Timmy's  when 
you  scratched  his  head  through  the  open  roof  of  his  basket. 
It  was  a  small  car,  but  as  Angela  wanted  it  only  to  run 
about  the  neighbouring  country,  keeping  Los  Angeles  as  a 
centre,  she  began  to  think  that  she  might  as  well  engage 
it.  After  the  poor  codfish  had  given  her  this  run  for 
nothing,  how  could  she  disappoint  him? 

Exactly  what  she  meant  to  do  when  she  stopped  before 
the  shop  of  Thomas  Barrymore  &  Company  she  could 
not  have  explained,  even  to  herself.  Perhaps  she  had  the 
curiosity  to  see  how  the  bag  would  look  in  the  window,  in 
case  the  jeweller  had  placed  it  there;  and  sure  enough,  he 
had  displayed  it,  anxious  not  to  miss  a  sale.  There  were 
other  gold  bags,  but  this  one  —  of  many  adventures  — 
was  by  far  the  most  beautiful;  and  suddenly  she  knew  why 


108  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

she  had  come.  She  was  going  to  buy  the  thing  for  herself. 
She  could  not  bear  to  let  any  one  else  own  that  bag. 

Of  course,  if  she  had  been  sensible  and  businesslike, 
she  might  have  told  Kate  before  selling  to  inquire  at 
some  shop  what  would  be  a  fair  price;  and  then  she  might 
have  offered  the  girl  that  amount.  Now  she  must  pay 
for  her  pride;  and  having  less  than  half  the  income  of  the 
Princess  di  Sereno,  Mrs.  May  ought  to  have  been  thinking 
about  the  California  land  she  wished  to  purchase  before 
committing  useless  extravagances  which  she  could  no 
longer  afford.  Besides,  if  she  bought  back  the  bag,  she 
would  always  be  ashamed  to  use  it  under  the  eyes  of 
Kate. 

She  pointed  it  out  to  one  of  the  Barrymore  assistants, 
who  said  it  had  just  arrived  from  Paris,  and  the  price  was 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  For  her  life,  Angela 
could  not  have  contradicted  him  or  haggled.  Luckily,  or 
unluckily,  her  money  had  come  from  San  Francisco.  It 
served  her  right,  she  thought,  to  pay  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  more  than  if  she  had  dealt  with  Kate.  She 
should  have  been  ashamed  even  to  want  Mr.  Hilliard's 
bag,  still  more  to  buy  it;  and  she  took  away  her  purchase 
in  a  beautiful  box,  with  all  the  joy  of  a  normal  female 
thing  who  has  secured  for  her  own  something  which  she 
ought  not  to  have.  When  Angela  di  Sereno  had  been  able 
to  afford  everything,  she  had  longed  for  nothing.  There 
was  a  new  spice  in  life.  And  the  redemption  of  the  bag 
was  to  be  a  dead  secret. 

"Back  to  the  hotel,  please;  and  I'll  engage  your  car 
for  the  next  three  or  four  days,"  said  Mrs.  May  to  Sealman, 
suddenly  full  of  kindness  for  him  and  all  the  world. 


LAST  ACT  OF  THE  COMEDY  109 

Nick  sat  in  the  window  of  a  better  hotel  than  Angela's. 
She  had  chosen  hers  on  the  advice  of  a  lady  in  the  din- 
ing-car, a  lovely  blonde,  nte  brunette,  who  had  once  en- 
joyed a  honeymoon  in  Los  Angeles,  and  was  now  on  her 
way  Nevadaward  to  get  a  divorce.  Nick  had  been  to 
Los  Angeles  before,  and  knew  where  to  go  without  asking 
advice,  though  the  same  lovely  lady  would  have  been 
enchanted  to  give  him  some.  Mr.  Millard  was  also  in  his 
hotel,  and  would  not  move  to  Mrs.  May's  (although  it  was 
cheaper,  so  long  as  Nick  remained  on  guard.  That  was 
one  of  the  reasons  why  Nick  stayed.  But  there  were  others. 
His  luggage  he  had  wired  for,  and  it  would  come  back. 

He  sat  by  the  window,  wondering  whether  Mrs.  May 
would  be  angry  if  he  showed  himself;  or  whether,  on  the 
principle  that  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king,  she  would  consider 
that  he  had  as  much  right  to  be  in  Los  Angeles  as  she  had. 

Then  she  flashed  by  in  the  blue  automobile,  which  was 
as  becoming  as  she  had  expected.  Nevertheless,  Nick 
jumped  up  from  the  chair  in  which  he  had  been  lounging, 
and  frowned.  "Great  guns!  If  there  ain't  that  bandy- 
legged, crop-eared,  broken-nosed  auto  Sealman  came  to 
offer  Mrs.  Gaylor  last  winter,  and  wanted  to  palm  off  on 
me!"  he  grumbled  to  himself.  "How  in  creation  did 
that  maverick  get  hold  of  Mrs.  May?  Bet  there've  been 
bribes  flyin'  around  somewhere." 

Angela,  being  on  the  way  back  to  her  hotel  from  Barry- 
more's  when  Nick  caught  sight  of  her,  had  returned  by 
the  time  he  strolled  in  to  ask  if  Mr.  Sealman  was  staying 
there.  Mr.  Sealman  was  not;  but  the  clerk  admitted 
acquaintance  with  him. 

"I  want  to  know  if  his  car's  engaged,"  began  Nick. 


110  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Yes,  the  clerk  happened  to  know  that  it  was  engaged 
for  the  next  three  days,  perhaps  longer,  to  a  young  lady 
in  the  hotel  who  intended  to  do  some  touring  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

"Contract  all  fixed  up?"  asked  Nick. 

Everything  was  arranged;  had  just  been  settled;  in 
fact,  Mr.  Sealman  had  gone  home. 

Nick  stood  still  and  thought  for  a  moment,  looking  as 
sad  as  if  he  had  earnestly  desired  the  Model  for  himself, 
which  was,  of  course,  the  impression  conveyed.  As  he 
reflected  (not  so  much  wondering  what  he  wanted  to  do 
next,  as  whether  the  thing  he  wanted  to  do  would  "work") 
Kate  came  down,  with  a  letter  in  her  hand  ready  to  post 
to  Mr.  Timothy  Moriarty,  White  Orchard,  Oregon. 

"Oh,  sir!"  she  exclaimed,  flitting  up  to  Nick.  "P'raps 
you  don't  remember  me,  but  I'm  maid  to  Mrs.  May,  and 
'twas  to  me  you  gave  that  beautiful  bag  you  said  you'd 
throw  out  o'  window  if  I  didn't  take  it.  Ye  don't  mind  if 
I  sold  it,  do  ye?" 

"Of  course  not,"  Kick  assured  her.  "I  gave  it  to  you 
for  that." 

"I  thought  so,  sir;  and  I've  done  fine  with  it  to-day.  A 
gentleman  named  Barrymore,  who  keeps  a  smart  jewellery 
shop,  paid  me  five  hundred  dollars.  I'm  all  in  a  flutter, 
sir!  Just  to  think,  it's  the  same  as  if  you'd  give  me  the 
money." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Nick.  "Some  cow  might  have 
swallowed  the  bag  by  this  time  if  you'd  let  me  chuck  it 
out  of  the  car  window.  Or  a  goat,  maybe." 

"Well,  thank  you  again  a  thousand  times.  And  what 
with  you,  and  my  lady,  Mrs.  May,  I'm  the  happiest  girl 


LAST  ACT  OF  THE  COMEDY  111 

in  the  wurruld."     And  Kate  tripped  away  to  post  her 
letter. 

"  'My  lady,  Mrs.  May,'"  echoed  Nick,  beneath  his 
breath.  "She's  my  lady,  too  —  my  angel  —  though  she 
doesn't  know  it.  And  nothing  can  change  that  till 
doomsday." 

He  had  hated  the  gold  bag  when  it  was  rejected  by 
Angela;  but  now  he  felt  differently.  His  heart  warmed 
toward  it.  Had  it  not  been  hers,  if  only  for  a  little  while? 
It  had  hung  on  her  wrist.  It  had  been  in  her  hand.  It 
had  held  her  lace  handkerchief,  which  smelled  like  some 
mysterious  flower  of  fairyland.  Now  he  knew  what  he 
had  come  to  learn,  there  was  nothing  to  keep  him  any 
longer;  and,  walking  out  of  the  hotel,  he  asked  the  first  in- 
telligent-looking man  he  met  where  to  find  Barrymore's. 

"A  young  lady  in  black,  in  a  blue  auto,  sir,  bought  the 
bag  you  must  have  seen  in  the  window,"  he  was  presently 
informed  by  the  youth  who  had  served  Angela.  "A 
young  lady  with  golden  hair.  You  might  almost  have 
met  her  on  the  way." 

"I  rather  think  I  did  meet  her,"  drawled  Nick.  And 
though  the  bag  was  gone  forever,  he  was  suddenly  so 
happy  that  he  could  have  sung  for  joy.  He  hurried  away 
to  telegraph  Henry  Morehouse,  at  Doctor  Beal's  Nursing 
Home,  asking  a  favour  which  he  was  sure  Moretouse 
would  grant,  because  they  had  grown  very  friendly  on  the 
journey  East.  Next,  he  called  at  the  largest  garage  in 
Los  Angeles,  and  asked  advice  of  the  manager  about 
buying  a  motor-car.  "You  wrote  me  in  the  winter,  saying 
you  had  a  fine  one  here  to  dispose  of,"  he  said.  "Maybe 
you  remember?" 


112  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Remember?  Why,  of  course,  the  manager  remembered 
Mr.  Hilliard!  Every  one  had  been  talking  of  his  Lucky 
Star  gusher. 

Nick  laughed.  "A  right  smart  lot  of  letters  wanting 
me  to  buy  things  came  along  about  that  time.  I  hadn't 
got  any  use  for  an  auto  then.  Now  I  have.  And  I  want 
a  good  one,  for  touring.  The  best  there  is." 

"Any  make  you  fancy?  " 

"I don't  know  much  more  about  motors  than  elephants," 
Nick  confessed.  "No  use  pretendin'  to  be  an  expert,  but 
I'm  going  to  learn  the  whole  game  from  A  to  Z." 

"I've  got  a  machine  here  now,"  said  the  man  of  the 
garage,  "that  might  suit  you  if  you  want  something  first- 
rate.  Belongs  to  a  millionaire  who  went  broke  before  he'd 
had  his  auto  a  week.  Best  American  on  the  market,  and 
better  than  new.  She's  found  herself.  Come  and  have  a 
look  at  her."  Nick  went.  "She"  was  a  beauty,  inside 
and  out  a  pale  primrose  yellow. 

"Almost  the  colour  of  her  hair,"  he  thought. 

"I  must  have  a  shuvver  to  overhaul  the  machine, 
until  I've  been  put  wise,"  he  said,  when,  after  some  dis- 
cussion, he  had  agreed  to  buy  the  yellow  car  if  it  were 
satisfactory.  "But  I  want  to  learn  to  drive  right  away. 
I'd  sure  be  on  pins  and  needles,  sittin'  like  a  duke,  in 
behind,  with  somebody  else  at  the  helm.  How  long  will 
it  take  me?  I'm  pretty  quick  at  pickin'  up  new  things." 

"Can  you  drive  a  horse? "  the  man  inquired. 

Nick  laughed.     "I  can  worry  along  some." 

Few  men  in  California  knew  more  about  horses  than  he. 

"Well,  then,  you'll  get  the  trick  of  steering  sooner. 
Six  or  seven  lessons  might  do  you." 


LAST  ACT  OF  THE  COMEDY  113 

"Lessons  of  an  hour  or  two?" 

"Well,  yes.     That's  about  it." 

"Suppose  I  pay  extra,  and  practise  extra?  If  I  keep 
at  it  all  day  and  every  day,  will  I  be  warranted  safe  and 
kind  after,  say,  four  lessons?  I  can  have  several  men  to 
teach  me  maybe,  if  I  tire  one  out." 

"  But  you're  only  one  man.  Keeping  at  it  like  that  you'd 
feel  a  strain." 

"No,  I  wouldn't,"  said  Nick.  "I'd  have  a  doze  or  two 
and  a  sandwich  or  two  in  between  spins.  No  harder  work 
than  a  round-up." 

"All  right,  then.  In  four  days  like  that  you'll  be  a 
dandy  driver,  I  promise  you,  Mr.  Hilliard,"  said  the  man 
of  the  garage. 

"Fit  to  drive  —  ladies?" 

"Fit  to  drive  a  queen." 

"That's  what  I  want  to  do,"  mumbled  Nick  under 
his  breath. 


WHEN  ANGELA  WENT  SIGHTSEEING 

THE  next  five  days  Angela  spent  in  seeing  the  country 
her  father  had  helped  to  create,  and  in  breaking  down 
in  the  blue  motor-car  at  brief  and  inconvenient  intervals. 
At  first  they  were  unexpected  intervals;  but  soon  they  were 
taken  for  granted;  for  the  more  she  knew  of  Mr.  Sealman's 
invention  the  less  was  Angela  surprised  at  anything  it 
chose  to  do.  The  Model  was  a  model  of  all  the  vices.  It 
smoked  like  a  chimney,  drank  like  a  fish,  and  developed, 
one  after  another  or  all  together,  every  malady  to  which 
motor-metal  is  heir.  The  stages  of  the  way,  even  to  the 
Mission  of  San  Gabriel,  in  its  sleepy  old  Mexican  village 
on  the  fringe  of  Los  Angeles,  were  punctuated  with  disasters. 
A  burst  tire  was  a  comma;  carburetor  trouble  a  colon; 
nervous  prostration  of  the  sparking-plug  a  period.  But 
Mr.  Sealman  never  lost  confidence.  He  explained  every- 
thing, justified  himself  and  the  car;  told  anecdotes  of  his 
courage,  and  let  fall  pathetic  words  concerning  an  invalid 
mother  dependent  on  him  and  his  success. 

"I'm  a  pioneer,  I  tell  you,"  he  said.  "You  and  I  are 
making  history  this  minute." 

Angela  would  gladly  have  turned  from  so  lurid  an 
occupation  to  any  other  pursuit;  but  Mr.  Sealman  looked 
as  if  his  health  were  more  fragile  than  that  of  the  car. 

114 


WHEN  ANGELA  WENT  SIGHTSEEING     115 

When  he  clawed  obscurely  at  the  crystallized  sugar  orna- 
ments under  the  bright  bonnet  of  the  fainting  Model,  his 
air  looked  so  dejected,  his  eyes  so  hollow,  and  his  smile 
so  wan  that  Angela's  fury  melted  into  pity.  Passionate 
resolves  to  shed  him  and  his  blue  abomination  died  within 
her  as  she  watched  his  struggles.  His  whole  future  de- 
pended, he  said,  on  the  Model.  If  Mrs.  May  should 
throw  him  over  and  hire  another  car,  the  news  would  fly 
like  lightning  from  garage  to  garage  of  Los  Angeles ;  indeed, 
from  end  to  end  of  California.  He  would  be  ruined.  His 
mother,  who  had  been  forbidden  excitement,  would,  with- 
out doubt,  die  of  heart  failure. 

The  heart  of  Angela  failed  also,  again  and  yet  again. 
She  began  to  see  that  Mr.  Sealman  had  cast  himself  for 
the  part  of  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  in  a  travel  drama  of  which 
she  was  heroine.  She  felt  alone  in  the  world.  "It  will 
probably  end  in  my  having  to  buy  the  little  blue  brute 
and  burn  it,"  she  thought.  "But  even  then  the  codfish 
will  probably  insist  on  being  my  butler." 

These  gloomy  forebodings  shadowed  her  mind  one 
morning  when  the  Model  broke  down  about  half  a  mile 
from  fantastic  little  Venice,  the  Coney  Island  of  South 
California.  In  a  rage  she  got  out  and  walked,  past  a 
kaleidoscopic  pattern  of  tiny  bazaars,  shooting-galleries, 
paper  icebergs,  and  cardboard  mountains.  She  threaded 
her  way  through  a  good-natured  crowd  of  tall,  tanned 
young  Americans,  pretty  girls  with  wonderful  erections  of 
golden  hair,  dark-faced  Mexicans,  yellow-faced  Japanese, 
a  few  Hindus  and  negroes.  Then,  by  the  pier,  she  saw  an 
old  Spanish  galleon  disguised  as  a  restaurant,  and  drifted 
in  to  lunch  on  fried  sand-dabs  attractively  advertised  in 


116  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

big  black  letters.  How  old,  how  Spanish,  and  how  galleon 
the  craft  might  really  be,  none  could  tell  —  or  would. 
But  the  sand-dabs  were  delicious;  and  from  the  queer 
window  near  her  table  —  a  window  cut  in  the  ship's  side 
—  she  could  see  the  Pacific,  blue  in  distance,  green  where 
it  tossed  white  foam-blossoms  on  a  beach  of  gold. 

"Breakdowns  would  be  fun  if  I'd  some  one  to  laugh  at 
them  with  me,"  she  thought;  and  her  mind  conjured 
up  the  image  of  Nick  Hilliard,  seating  him  opposite  her 
at  the  little  table. 

She  had  ordered  him  home  and  he  had  apparently 
obeyed;  which  seemed  unkind  and  poor-spirited,  and 
altogether  unlike  him.  Ever  until  now  he  had  been  at 
hand  to  save  her  from  all  that  was  disagreeable.  Even 
at  Los  Angeles  he  had  jumped  off  the  train  to  circumvent 
Mr.  Millard.  His  ways  had  been  like  the  ways  of  story- 
book heroes,  who,  by  some  extraordinary  coincidence, 
invariably  appear  in  time  to  rescue  the  heroine  from  a 
villain,  a  mad  bull,  a  runaway  horse  or  a  burning  house. 
The  only  difference  was  that  Mr.  Hilliard  could  not  possi- 
bly be  the  hero  of  this  story,  and  his  opportune  arrival  was, 
on  his  own  confession,  never  a  coincidence.  He  came  on 
purpose;  and  that  was  bad  taste.  But  as  he  had  done  it 
so  often,  why  couldn't  he  have  transgressed  just  once 
again,  to  rescue  her  from  Sealman? 

She  thought  of  the  tall  forest  creature  with  yearnings, 
which  interfered  with  her  appetite  for  sand-dabs.  He 
might  unobtrusively  have  stayed,  she  thought,  and  put 
himself  at  her  service.  Not  the  most  clinging  Old  Man 
of  the  Sea  could  continue  to  cling  if  that  square-chinned 
bronze  statue  pointed  out  the  wisdom  of  letting  go.  But 


WHEN  ANGELA  WENT  SIGHTSEEING    117 

no  doubt  he  was  at  home  near  Bakersfield,  before  this  — 
Angela  seldom  named  Nick  in  her  mind  —  otherwise  she 
must  have  run  across  him  somewhere  that  first  day  at 
the  City  of  the  Angels  when  she  had  spun  gaily  from  park 
to  park,  the  Model  for  once  behaving  well.  Almost,  she 
had  expected  to  see  him  the  next  morning  when  the  car 
refused  to  move,  and  she  had  taken  a  trolley  car,  halfway 
to  San  Gabriel.  It  would  have  seemed  appropriate,  some- 
how, to  meet  him  strolling  in  front  of  the  Mission,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  gazing  up  at  the  beautiful  half- 
ruined  facade,  with  its  delicate  chain-armour  of  gold 
lichen,  its  tower,  and  its  flowers  like  blossoming  barnacles. 

Angela  knew  now  that  she  had  felt  certain  of  meeting 
Hilliard  "accidentally,"  in  the  Mission  church.  That 
while  she  walked  beside  the  elderly  Spanish  verger,  chatting 
of  his  native  Cordova,  listening  to  tales  of  Father  Juniperra 
Serra,  Father  Somera,  and  the  legend  of  the  Indians  with 
the  miraculous  portrait  of  the  Madonna,  she  had  started 
more  than  once  at  a  footfall,  fancying  it  that  of  her  lost 
hero. 

Of  course,  if  he  had  ventured  to  show  himself  at  any 
time  she  would  have  known  that  it  was  no  coincidence; 
and  she  would  have  lifted  her  eyebrows  in  silent  reproach, 
talking  more  earnestly  to  the  verger,  who  had  been  happy 
because  she  knew  Cordova  and  all  his  beloved  Spanish 
cathedrals.  Nevertheless,  the  bronze  statue  would  have 
fitted  well  into  the  scene,  and  something  lacked  because 
it  was  absent. 

"I  do  think  he  might  write  from  his  ranch  and  acknowl- 
edge the  money  I  sent  him,"  she  told  herself  now,  neglect- 
ing the  sand-dabs  to  stare  through  the  galleon  window  at 


118  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

the  floating  seaweed  on  the  tide-dark  gold-green  kelp,  like 
lost  laurel-wreaths  torn  from  the  brows  of  drowned 
divinities.  "I  posted  the  letter  myself,  that  first  day.  He 
must  have  got  it  —  if  he  is  at  home." 

Just  then  a  tall,  dark  young  man  walked  into  the  ship- 
restaurant,  taking  off  a  sombrero.  Angela  gathered  her- 
self together,  ready  to  administer  a  gentle  snub.  But  she 
might  have  saved  herself  the  trouble.  It  was  not  Nick. 
She  could  have  cried  with  disappointment.  Snubs  of  the 
past  were  coming  home  to  roost. 

There  was  time  to  buy  California  jewels  in  the  bazaars 
—  tourmalines  and  pearl-blisters  —  before  the  car  came 
up,  purring  sweetly,  and  looking  innocent  as  a  cat  gorged 
with  canary  birds.  Mr.  Sealman  was  so  sure  that  nothing 
could  or  would  go  wrong  ever  again  that  Angela  had  no 
heart  to  receive  him  coldly. 

They  started  off  for  a  run  through  bungalow-land,  and 
the  Model  conducted  itself  like  a  newly  converted  sinner. 

"I've  been  thinking  out  a  dandy  plan,  while  I  was 
tinkering  on  the  auto,"  remarked  Mr.  Sealman  in  an 
engaging  manner.  "What  do  you  say  to  doing  a  tour  of 
the  Missions?  You  know,  I  guess,  there's  a  chain  of  'em, 
and  the  fine  thing  it  would  be  to  see  the  lot  by  road!  I 
tell  you,  this  little  auto's  going  to  be  all  right  —  all  right. 
It'd  be  the  best  kind  of  a  stunt  for  a  lady  from  Europe; 
and  if  the  papers  got  hold  of  it,  I  bet  they'd  give  us  a  bang- 
up  notice  —  a  photo  too,  maybe,  you  could  send  your 
friends  on  the  other  side." 

Angela  shuddered.  She  could  hardly  bear  even  to  hear 
this  proposal  from  the  codfish,  for  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Missions  of  California  had  been  a  dream  of  Franklin 


WHEN  ANGELA  WENT  SIGHTSEEING 

Meiriam 's.  He  and  she  were  to  have  followed  the  foot- 
steps of  the  Franciscan  Fathers,  stage  by  stage;  and  if  a 
Mission  here  or  there  were  falling  into  ruin,  Merriam  had 
talked  of  offering  to  restore  it  at  his  own  expense.  Now 
the  money  had  gone  to  restore  the  Palazzo  di  Sereno, 
and  to  buy  motors  and  aeroplanes  and  ladies'  favours  for 
the  Prince  of  that  name.  Yet  some  day  Angela  meant  to 
make  the  pilgrimage,  when  she  had  built  her  house  and 
given  herself  a  starting-point. 

"I've  other  things  to  do,"  she  replied  coldly.  "I  shall 
see  only  the  Missions  I  may  happen  to  pass  on  this  tour." 

"Well,  some  folks'd  ruther  save  this  trip  for  a  weddin' 
journey,"  Sealman  suggested.  "I  suppose  widows  have 
weddin'  trips,  don't  they?"  He  gazed  thoughtfully  at 
the  gray  coat  and  gray-veiled  motor  hat  which  Angela 
wore  to  protect  her  from  the  dust.  She  sat  in  front  beside 
the  chauffeur  for  the  motion  of  the  car  was  less  there, 
but  she  decided  that,  if  she  were  ever  hypnotized  into 
associating  with  the  Model  again,  she  would  take  the  back 
seat. 

"The  Missions  for  mine,"  he  went  on,  when  his  passen- 
ger made  no  reply.  "  There's  some  prefers  the  Yosemite, 
but  there's  no  motorin'  there.  And  if  I  was  a  girl  I  wouldn't 
feel  married  without  a  motor.  In  the  Yosemite  there's 
so  much  honeymoonin',  the  minute  you  see  a  lady  with  a, 
man  you  put  'em  down  for  bride  and  groom." 

Angela  had  cause  to  remember  this  remark  later. 

"Speakin'  of  honeymoons,  looks  as  if  there'd  been 
some  around  here,"  the  codfish  continued  chattily. 

They  were  running  about  through  the  suburbs  of  Los 
Angeles,  and  if  Sealman 's  passenger  had  deigned  to  answer 


120 

she  would  have  been  compelled  to  agree.  It  was  ideal 
honeymoon-land;  a  moving  picture,  painted  in  colours, 
seemingly  by  rival  artists  of  different  nations,  for  the 
mingling  of  effects  was  mysterious  as  the  scenery  of 
dreams. 

Just  as  Angela  told  herself  that  it  was  like  Holland  in 
the  jewel-box  neatness  of  little  streets  and  little  houses  — 
behold  the  Riviera,  with  groups  of  palms  among  tropical 
flowers,  and  feathery  pepper-trees,  graceful  and  large  as 
giant  willows!  Then,  when  she  had  decided  on  Italy  or 
Southern  France  as  a  simile,  far-off,  sharp  mountain 
peaks,  a  dark,  grotesquely  branching  pine  in  filmy  distance, 
and  a  doll's  house  with  a  red  pointed  roof,  suggested  a 
sketch  on  a  Japanese  fan. 

This  was  a  spick-and-span  little  world  for  a  perpetual 
honeymoon,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the  streets  there  should 
have  been  signs,  Angela  thought,  saying,  "No  one  but 
brides  and  grooms  need  apply."  It  was  all  distractingly 
pretty;  and  though  Angela  had  already  admired  the  big 
handsome  houses  of  Los  Angeles  and  Pasadena,  these  rose- 
bowered  bungalows  caught  her  fancy  more.  After  all, 
there  is  a  sameness  about  millionaires'  mansions  the  whole 
world  over;  but  here  was  something  new,  invented  by 
California. 

Cupid  himself  might  have  been  the  architect  so  daintily 
was  each  little  dwelling  planned  for  the  happiness  of  two 
lovers;  so,  of  course,  all  the  women  who  lived  in  these 
houses  must  be  young  and  beautiful.  All  the  men  must  be 
handsome,  and  husbands  and  wives  must  adore  each  other. 
No  creatures  old  or  fat  or  inclined  to  be  disagreeable 
would  dare  come  house-hunting  here;  or  if  they  did  come, 


WHEN  ANGELA  WENT  SIGHTSEEING     121 

surely  some  wise  suburban  by-law  would  rule  them  out! 
Once  in,  as  residents,  the  happy  lovers  would  remain  for- 
ever young. 

"It's  to  be  Riverside  to-morrow,  ain't  it?"  Sealman 
inquired,  when,  full  two  hours  later  than  she  had  expected, 
he  brought  her  back  to  the  door  of  her  hotel. 

Angela  hesitated.  In  California,  at  most  times  of  year, 
it  is  hopeless  to  use  the  weather  as  a  handle  to  hang  an 
excuse  upon.  She  looked  at  the  sky.  It  was  a  vast  in- 
verted cup  of  turquoise. 

"Are  you  sure  the  car  is  equal  to  so  long  a  run?"  she 
asked  mildly. 

The  likeness  between  Mr.  Sealman  and  a  codfish  became 
so  marked  that  Angela  feared  he  was  going  to  be  ill. 

"You  don't  know  what  the  car  can  do,"  he  answered 
reproachfully. 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  admitted.  "Very  well,  we'll  start 
at  eight." 

"Better  make  it  earlier." 

She  made  it  earlier,  and  was  actually  ready;  but  at 
half-past  eight  Sealman  appeared  on  foot.  Of  the  car's 
health  he  said  nothing,  but  of  his  mother's  health  he  said 
much.  She  had  suffered  a  relapse.  The  doctor  had  been 
with  her  all  night.  How  Sealman  was  going  to  pay  the 
bill  he  did  not  know.  Would  Mrs.  May  go  to  Santa  Cata- 
lina  Island  this  morning,  and  to  Riverside  to-morrow? 
There  was  time  to  catch  the  boat. 

The  doctor's  bill  was  a  trump  card.  Angela  consented 
to  wait  for  Riverside,  and  she  took  Kate  to  that  fair 
island  loved  by  Californians,  and  by  fishermen  all  over 
the  world. 


122  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

The  name  Avalon  alone  would  have  lured  her;  for  who 
would  not  set  sail  for  Avalon  at  a  moment's  notice? 

Santa  Catalina  is  Corsica  in  miniature,  Corsica  without 
Napoleon  or  vendetta.  But  it  has  sea-gardens,  fathoms 
deep  under  green  water,  where  flowers  bloom  and  fish 
glitter  in  a  dazzle  of  jewelled  armour  beneath  the  glass 
floors  of  flat-bottomed  boats.  The  fishermen  were  catch- 
ing yellow-tail  that  day,  too,  just  as  Franklin  Merriam 
had  caught  them  in  his  time;  and  his  daughter  went  back 
to  Los  Angeles  full  of  thoughts  of  him. 

To-morrow  was  to  be  held  sacred  to  her  father's  memory; 
for  his  old  home,  vanished  off  the  face  of  the  earth  now, 
had  been  near  Riverside.  Angela  wanted  the  day  to  be 
perfect,  unmarred  by  trouble  or  vexation;  and  though 
she  had  her  fears,  when  morning  came  the  Model  started 
off  so  well  that  hope  began  to  rise. 

Making  a  detour,  they  spun  past  the  old  Mission  San 
Gabriel,  where  she  had  arrived  ignominiously  by  trolley 
four  days  ago;  and  turning  for  a  look  at  the  facade, 
Angela  saw  a  yellow  car  drawn  up  in  the  fleecy  shadow  of 
a  pepper-tree.  A  chauffeur  sat  next  the  driver's  empty 
seat,  apparently  half  asleep. 

"That's  the  motor  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about,  a  day  or 
two  ago,"  Angela  said,  bending  forward  to  speak  to  Seal- 
man  —  for  she  had  kept  her  resolution  to  sit  behind  him. 
"It's  the  handsomest  I've  seen;  and  we've  met  it  several 
times;  two  men  in  it  always,  in  chauffeur's  caps  and 
goggles." 

"Oh,  that  car!"  remarked  the  inventor  with  indiffer- 
ence. "That's  what  we  call  Smith's  Folly.  Thad  Smith, 
a  fellow  who  made  a  pile  of  money,  had  the  thing  built  to 


WHEN  ANGELA  WENT  SIGHTSEEING     123 

order,  and  it  brought  him  bad  luck  —  lost  every  cent  the 
day  she  was  finished,  and  he's  been  trying  to  sell  her  ever 
since.  /  wouldn't  take  her  for  a  present." 

Angela  leaned  back,  hiding  a  smile  behind  her  motor 
veil.  She  did  not  believe  that  Mr.  Sealman  would  have 
the  offer.  His  little  car  looked  a  badly  made  toy  com- 
pared with  that  golden  chariot.  She  wondered  if  it  had 
been  sold,  or  if  it  would  be  worth  while  to  make  inquiries. 
Somebody  was  perhaps  trying  it,  she  thought,  for  often 
it  followed  the  road  taken  by  Sealman;  or,  when  their 
car  broke  down,  as  it  usually  did,  the  yellow  giant  shot 
ahead,  disappeared  and  occasionally  appeared  again. 

"I  should  like  to  find  out  if  it's  still  for  sale,  "she  said  to 
herself,  gazing  back  admiringly.  "Why  shouldn't  I  have 
a  motor  of  my  own?  " 

As  the  Model  trundled  her  out  of  sight,  a  man  walked 
round  the  corner,  and,  springing  into  the  yellow  car,  took 
the  driver's  seat. 


XI 

THE  MAN  AT  THE  WHEEL 

NICK  had  not  been  visiting  the  Mission  that  day. 
But  he  had  been  there  before,  gabbling  fluent  Spanish  with 
the  verger.  This  was  more  than  Angela  could  do,  though 
she  knew  the  cathedrals  of  Spain!  In  the  morning  Nick 
had  made  an  early  start  with  his  new  car,  and,  after  four 
long  days  of  constant  practice,  at  last  he  experienced  the 
joy  of  confidence  in  himself,  at  the  wheel.  He  was  now 
licensed  to  drive,  and  the  yellow  automobile  was  his, 
body  and  soul. 

The  chauffeur,  a  reedy  and  extremely  young  youth,  with 
a  sharp  nose  and  a  keen  sense  of  humour,  had  scraped 
acquaintance  with  Sealman.  Without  giving  away  any 
information  on  his  side,  he  had  always  contrived  to  find  out, 
if  not  where  the  Model  was  going,  at  least  where  it  was 
hoped  she  might  go.  It  was  to  be  Riverside  to-day;  and 
after  a  preliminary  spin  from  six  to  eight,  Nick  had  been 
lingering  near  the  Mission,  paying  a  friendly  visit  to  the 
owner  of  the  Big  Grapevine  and  the  Trained  Owls.  This 
man  was  the  most  taciturn  of  mortals.  But  something 
behind  the  locked  windows  of  his  soul  recognized  a  con- 
genial spirit  in  the  open  windows  of  Nick  Hilliard's,  and 
the  two  had  made  friends  years  ago.  The  morning's  call 
was  a  renewal  of  old  acquaintance;  and  the  sea-green 

124 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  WHEEL  125 

light  under  the  Grapevine  was  as  clear  as  on  another 
May  day,  when  Nick  was  six  years  younger.  The  alli- 
gators were  larger;  but  the  white-faced  owls  were  un- 
changed —  unless  perhaps  a  little  wiser,  a  little  more 
instructed  in  the  oldest  secrets  of  an  old,  secretive  world. 

"  See  the  way  that  white- veiled  witch  stares  at  me  with 
her  golden  eyes?"  said  Nick.  "Wish  I  could  flatter  my- 
self she  remembers  me." 

"Of  course  she  remembers,"  said  her  master,  "She's 
the  same  one  told  your  fortune  when  you  were  here  before." 

"I  asked  her  if  I  was  going  to  amount  to  anything  in 
the  world,  and  she  nodded  her  head  three  times.  I  felt 
like  sending  her  a  present  when  Gaylor  made  me  foreman, 
and  again  when  I  got  my  ranch.  She  ought  to  have  had 
a  diamond  crown  when  the  gusher  came.  But,  like  an  un- 
grateful beast,  I  forgot  all  about  her." 

"She  knows  her  business,"  said  the  Grapevine  man. 
"Three  nods  mean  three  big  strokes  of  luck." 

"Good  king!"  exclaimed  Nick.  "I  hope  that  doesn't 
mean  I'm  not  going  to  have  any  more  than  three?" 

"Anything  you  want  in  particular?" 

"Well,  yes,  there  is  something  I'm  sort  of  set  on." 

"Ask" her  if  you  get  your  wish." 

Nick  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  owl. 

"Do  I  get  my  wish?" 

She  sat  motionless  on  her  perch  for  a  moment,  con- 
sulting her  oracle.  Then  she  suddenly  lifted  her  wings 
and  flapped  violently. 

"Is  that  the  best  answer  you  can  give?"  Nick  re- 
proached her. 

The  owl  repeated  the  gesture. 


126  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"I  guess  you  want  something  she  doesn't  approve  of," 
said  the  Grapevine  man. 

"She  might  give  me  a  civil  'yes'  or  'no.'  See  here,  you 
Witch  of  Endor  —  do  I  get  my  wish?  " 

The  owl  closed  her  eyes,  then  opened  them  with  a 
sudden  flash  of  gold,  but  would  neither  nod  nor  shake  her 
head. 

"She  knows,  but  she  won't  tell,"  said  her  master. 
"Maybe  she  doesn't  want  to  upset  your  feelings." 

"She  can't  scare  me  with  her  mysteries,"  Nick  laughed. 
"I'm  going  right  ahead  on  the  same  lines."  Then  he  said 
good-bye  to  his  friend  and  went  out  to  his  motor.  But 
there  was  enough  of  the  boy  in  him  to  be  disappointed 
because  the  white  witch  had  refused  an  answer. 

The  car  had  a  proud  way  of  dismissing  the  landscape 
impatiently,  if  given  her  head;  but  as  her  new  owner  was 
not  out  to  show  what  he  could  do,  she  was  compelled  to 
crawl  when  she  would  have  flown,  like  Pegasus  harnessed 
to  the  plough. 

To-day,  the  task  of  subduing  herself  was  not  so  painful 
as  usual,  for  the  blue  car  went  on  mile  after  mile,  through 
the  far-stretching  orange  groves,  without  a  stop;  and 
Nick  enjoyed  driving. 

"Wish  I  could  remember,"  he  thought,  "how  I  felt 
when  I  was  a  kid,  and  walked  alone  across  a  room  the 
first  time  without  tumbling  on  my  nose.  I  wonder  if  it 
was  as  good  as  this?" 

"This"  was  very  good  indeed,  and  would  have  been 
good  anywhere  —  for  Nick  was,  according  to  his  own  way 
of  putting  it,  a  "crank"  about  doing  well  whatever  he 
undertook,  and  he  knew  now  that  he  had  conquered  the 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  WHEEL  127 

machine  —  but  on  such  a  road,  and  in  the  light  and  shade 
of  orange  groves,  it  was  superlative. 

The  vast  plain,  walled  with  mountains,  was  an  endless 
city  of  domed  green  temples,  richly  decorated  with  the 
gold  of  the  late  orange  crop.  Beyond  its  boundary  were 
vines,  cut  close  in  Spanish  fashion,  which  perhaps  the 
Fathers  had  taught  in  Mission  days;  and  there  were  tall, 
pink-trunked  eucalyptus  trees  from  whose  wood  beautiful 
furniture  could  be  made;  then  cities  of  green  and  golden 
temples  again,  in  a  desert-frame  of  tawny  yellow.  Every- 
thing that  was  not  green  was  golden.  The  sun  poured 
gold;  oranges  blazed  in  golden  splendour;  and  California 
poppies,  golden  with  orange  hearts,  swept  in  a  yellow  flame 
over  the  landscape. 

"Gold  under  the  earth,  and  gold  over  the  earth," 
thought  Nick.  "That's  California!"  And  he  thought, 
too,  of  the  gold  of  Angela's  hair.  "She'd  look  mighty  well 
in  this  yellow  car,  floating  along  among  the  white  and  gold 
of  oranges  and  orange-blossoms,  all  white  and  gold  her- 
self," he  said.  "And  she's  going  to  look  well  in  it.  That's 
what  I  got  it  for.  That's  what  I've  been  working  for  till 
this  auto's  fit  to  eat  out  of  my  hand.  And  gee!  but  I've 
been  going  some!" 

He  grinned  under  his  motor  mask  as  he  recalled  the 
strenuous  hours.  He  had  enjoyed  them,  but  he  had  hated 
the  mask;  and  so  soon  as  the  time  came  —  he  thought  it 
must  come  soon  —  when  he  could  reap  the  reward  of  labour 
he  meant  to  shed  the  abomination.  It  had  served  its 
purpose  by  letting  him  come  by  accident  once  or  twice 
within  full  sight  of  the  Model,  safe  from  recognition.  He 
had  not  wanted  Mrs.  May  to  find  out  prematurely  that  he 


128  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

was  dogging  her  tire  tracks  in  a  car  which  might  have 
shot  past  her  like  a  comet.  She  had  misunderstood  him 
too  often  already,  and  he  wished  her  to  think  him  safe 
at  Lucky  Star  Ranch,  until  the  moment  when  she  would 
rejoice  to  see  him  at  any  price. 

More  than  once  during  the  last  four  days  of  practice 
and  probation  Nick  had  been  tempted  to  offer  his  services. 
But  common-sense  had  held  him  back  when  the  blue  car 
was  in  trouble.  It  had  warned  him  that  a  little  bitter 
experience  might  incline  the  lady  to  be  lenient.  Several 
minor  breakdowns,  disappointments,  and  vexations  were 
needed  before  she  would  see  matters  eye  to  eye  with  him. 
And  Nick  thought  himself  lucky  that,  so  far,  the  Model 
had  not  been  permanently  disabled.  Now,  if  anything 
happened,  he  was  ready. 

Sealman  had  the  air  of  slowing  down,  after  an  unusually 
long  nonstop  run,  to  show  off  his  acquaintance  with  the 
country.  "That  great  sandy  stretch  is  the  bed  of  the 
Santa  Ana,"  said  he.  "Why,  there's  so  much  sand  and 
so  little  water  mostly,  they  have  to  sprinkle  the  bed  to 
keep  it  from  flyin'  about  the  landscape,  as  if  'twas  a  pile 
o'  feathers.  It  ain't  like  the  Oro,  where  first  they  found 
gold,  and  then,  when  they  thought  they'd  got  the  lot, 
come  across  more  in  the  cobbles.  Not  only  that,  but  by 
some  scientific  process  or  other  —  you  wouldn't  understand 
if  I  told  you  —  they  washed  the  river-bed,  so  the  sand  and 
stones  riz.  'Stirrin'  up  the  alluvial  deposits'  was  what  they 
called  it;  till  they  could  get  hold  of  the  cobbles  again,  to 
crush  'em  for  road-makin'.  Roads  was  needed  bad  them 
days!  And  at  last  they  hauled  out  the  mud  from  the 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  WHEEL  129 

bottom  to  plaster  over  the  desert  that  was  here,  so  oranges 
and  olives  and  grapes  could  take  to  growin'.  Sort  of 
wonderful,  wasn't  it?" 

Angela  could  have  told  him  a  great  deal  more  than  he 
had  told  her,  about  these  "scientific  processes,"  for  her 
father  had  been  one  of  the  men  most  interested  in  their 
success.  But  she  kept  her  knowledge  to  herself. 

"Yes,  it's  wonderful,"  she  replied.  "But  —  don't  you 
think  we'd  better  be  going  on?  We've  a  long  way  before 
us,  according  to  the  map." 

"Yes,  we'll  go  right  on,"  said  Sealman.  "  I  just  thought 
I'd  stop  her  and  point  out  the  Santa  Ana,  for  fear  you'd 
miss  it."  He  was  anxious  to  conceal  the  fact  that  it  was 
the  Model  who  had  "just  thought,"  but,  urging  her  to  begin 
again  where  she  had  left  off,  the  little  brute  refused 
to  budge. 

"Is  anything  wrong?"  asked  Angela,  when  Sealman 
had  worked  in  worried  silence  for  several  minutes. 

"Can't  see  nothing,"  said  he,  increasing  in  codfishiness. 
"  She'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute.  Give  her  time  to  breathe !" 

Angela  gave  her  time  to  breathe,  but  the  minute  passed, 
and  other  minutes  limped  after.  Sealman  sweated  and 
grunted  under  the  open  lid  of  the  bright  bonnet.  Angela 
was  sorry  for  him.  But  she  was  more  sorry  for  herself,  as 
she  counted  the  nearest  rows  of  orange-trees  for  the  twenty- 
fifth  time,  following  them  with  her  eyes,  as  they  ran  up  the 
ankles  and  legs  of  the  little  yellow  mountains.  It  was 
luncheon-time,  and  she  was  hungry.  She  had  been  read- 
ing about  the  Mission  Inn  at  Riverside,  and  picturing  her- 
self there,  in  a  cool,  large  dining-room. 

"How  far  are  we  from  a  railway  station?"  she  asked 


130  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

desperately,  when  her  watch  said  that  they  had  sat  by 
the  Santa  Ana's  bedside  for  thirty-five  minutes. 

"  Can't  tell  you  that,  ma'am,"  snapped  Sealman.  "  But 
it's  too  far  to  walk,  unless  you've  got  seven-league  boots." 

"  What's  the  matter?     Haven't  you  found  out  yet  ?  " 

"Thought  it  might  be  the  pump.  But  it  doesn't  seem 
to  be.  I  give  it  up!"  And  he  wiped  his  forehead  with 
a  handkerchief  that  left  green  streaks  of  oil. 

"But  you  mustn't  give  it  up.  We  can't  stop  here  all 
day." 

Sealman  grinned  viciously.  Perhaps  he,  too,  hungered. 
Certainly  he  was  hot,  and  felt  like  a  Socialist.  What 
was  this  young  woman  that  she  should  sit  'there  com- 
fortably and  nag  him  while  he  was  down  hi  the  dust? 
"I  don't  see  any  reason  against  our  stayin'  all  day," 
said  he.  "And  I  guess  the  machine  don't." 

"Hateful  little  beast!"  exclaimed  Angela. 

"Who,  me  or  the  Model?"  Sealman  wanted  to  know. 

"I  meant  the  —  alleged  —  Model.  She's  a  fraud  —  a 
horror.  If  only  I  get  —  somewhere  —  I  don't  care  where 
—  I'll  never  come  out  with  you  again,  never,  never!" 

"You're  engaged  to  me  till  the  end  of  the  month,"  said 
Sealman  as  firmly  as  if  he  alluded  to  a  promise  of  marriage. 
"I've  refused  two  other  gentlemen.  If  you  don't  use  the 
machine,  you'll  pay,  anyhow." 

Angela  would  have  given  much  if  she  had  brought  Kate. 
To  be  alone  with  these  two  monsters  in  an  uninhabited 
world  under  a  blazing  sun,  passionately  hungry  and 
futilely  angry,  was  a  dull  adventure. 

"You  know  perfectly  well  I  engaged  you  only  for  three 
or  four  days,"  she  said.  "That  settles  it!  You  shall  not 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  WHEEL  131 

cheat  me.  And  since  you  don't  seem  to  know  what's  to 
become  of  you  or  your  car  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  I  shall 
decide  on  my  own  movements.  I'm  going  to  walk." 

She  sprang  out;  and  Nick,  awaiting  developments  at 
a  safe  distance  of  a  hundred  yards  in  the  background,  saw 
a  slim  gray  figure  separate  itself  from  the  motionless  Model. 

"Now's  my  time,  I  reckon,"  he  said  to  himself,  and 
started  the  car,  which  could  be  done  from  the  chauffeur's 
seat.  He  drove  at  low  speed,  as  if  he  were  out  to  enjoy 
the  scenery,  and  slowed  down  gently  beside  Angela,  who 
was  walking  in  the  direction  of  Riverside.  At  that  rate 
she  might  have  reached  the  nearest  railway  station  in  an 
hour  and  a  half. 

Nick's  goggles  and  chauffeur's  hat  were  off.  "  Why,  how 
do  you  do,  Mrs.  May?"  he  asked,  in  his  pleasant  voice. 
"Your  machine's  broke  down  for  good  this  time,  I'm 
afraid.  Now  do  let  me  give  you  a  lift." 

"Mr.  Hilliard!"  cried  Angela,  taken  completely  by 
surprise,  as  she  looked  up  from  under  her  sunshade. 
"Where  are  you  going?  " 

"I've  no  particular  choice,"  said  Nick.  "I'm  only  in 
this  part  of  the  country  because  this  part  of  the  country 
happens  to  be  here.  I'd  be  just  as  pleased  if  'twas  any- 
where else.  Where  are  you  going?  " 

Angela  began  to  laugh,  and  could  not  stop  laughing. 
Nick,  seeing  this,  and  seeing  that  she  looked  a  schoolgirl 
of  sixteen  in  her  little  motor-bonnet,  ventured  to  laugh  too. 

"I  was  taking  to  the  desert,"  she  said.  "But  I  wanted 
to  go  to  Riverside.  Is  —  is  this  the  same  old  story?  " 

She  could  not  put  her  meaning  more  plainly,  because 
of  Mr.  Hilliard's  chauffeur;  but  Nick  understood.  "I've 


132  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

been  learnin'  to  drive,  the  last  few  days,"  he  said.  "And 
I've  seen  you,  now  and  then,  runnin'  about  in  that  little 
car.  It's  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine.  Sealman  tried  to 
sell  it  to  me  last  winter.  I  was  sort  of  sorry  to  see  he'd  got 
hold  of  you."  Nick  was  out  in  the  road  now,  standing  be- 
side her,  and  the  big  yellow  car  was  purring  an  invitation. 

"I  was  sorry  for  him,"  said  Angela.  "But  I'm  not  now. 
He's  a  cheat.  He  pretends  I've  engaged  the  car  for  a 
fortnight." 

"I  guess  he  won't  go  on  along  that  line  now  he's  seen 
who  I  am,"  remarked  Nick,  "because  if  he  does,  I'll  make 
his  Model  an  orphan.  He  remembers  me  from  last  winter. 
I'll  deal  with  him  for  you,  if  you  please." 

Angela  laughed  again.  "Thank  you!  He  doesn't 
seem  likely  to  go  on  very  soon,  along  any  line,  does  he?" 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  that  car's  ball-bearings  ain't 
broken,"  said  the  sharp-nosed  chauffeur.  "That's  a  real 
favourite  accident  of  Sealman's.  We've  got  to  know  it 
by  heart  in  Los  Angeles.  It  generally  happens  with  him 
—  across  a  trolley  track.  Takes  all  day  to  dismount  and 
fix  up  again." 

"We  can't  go  away  and  leave  him  to  his  fate,"  said 
Angela.  "After  all,  he's  human." 

Nick  could  have  shouted  "Hurrah!"  That  "we"  of 
hers  told  him  that  he  had  won. 

"Shall  we  tow  him  to  the  next  town?"  he  asked, 
keeping  triumph  out  of  his  tone.  "We'll  land  him  in  a 
garage.  And  then  —  if  instead  of  his  car  you'll  take  mine 
to  Riverside,  why,  I'll  be  mighty  honoured." 

"You  expected  me  to  come  to  grief!"  she  said. 
'Well,  I  knew  that  Model." 


THE  MAN  AT  THE  WHEEL  133 


"And  you've  been " 

"Just  practising  with  my  new  machine.  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  keep  around  in  your  neighbourhood  as  any- 
where." 

"  I've  seen  your  car.     But  you  were  so  goggled " 

"I  hated  to  have  you  misunderstand  me  again,  till  I 
could  explain.  I  thought  maybe  some  day  you'd  be  a  little 
glad  to  see  me  —  not  for  myself,  but  for " 

"Myself!"  Angela  finished.  "Yes,  I'm  selfish  enough 
to  be  glad  now  —  very  glad.  You're  a  friend  in  need." 

"  Then  I'm  happy.  That's  all  I  ask  to  be  —  just  a  friend 
in  need.  Will  you  let  me  drive  you  to  Riverside?  " 

"I'd  let  you  drive  me  —  anywhere,  to  lunch.  But  you 
mustn't  ask  just  now  if  I've  forgiven  you.  It  would  be 
taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  a  shipwrecked  mariner." 

"I  shouldn't  think  of  doing  such  a  low-down  thing," 
protested  the  forest  creature. 


XII 
THE  BEAUTIFUL  COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE 

NICK  refrained  from  mentioning  this  to  Mrs.  May,  but 
when  he  had  last  seen  the  Mission  Inn  at  Riverside 
he  had  thought  that  he  would  like  to  come  there,  next 
time,  on  his  wedding  trip.  There  had  been  no  bride  in 
view  then,  or  since;  but  now  he  remembered  that  wish. 
It  was  a  good  omen  that  fate  should  have  made  the  one 
woman  of  all  the  world  his  companion  to-day. 

He  had  not  expected  such  a  wonderful  stroke  of  luck. 
The  little  blue  auto  might  actually  have  gone  a  whole  day 
without  mishap,  or  might  not  have  collapsed  until  after 
Mrs.  May  had  lunched  alone  at  the  Glenwood.  But 
here  they  were,  he  and  she,  in  his  yellow  car,  sailing 
into  Riverside  together;  he  driving,  Angela  by  his  side, 
talking  as  kindly  as  if  she  had  forgiven  him  his  sins  with- 
out being  asked.  If  he  had  not  thought  it  "wasn't  play- 
ing fair,"  he  would  have  "made  believe"  like  a  small  boy 
building  air-castles,  pretending  that  it  really  was  a  wed- 
ding trip,  and  that  he  and  his  Angel  were  about  to  have 
their  first  luncheon  together. 

"But  she'd  hate  me  even  to  make  believe,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "No!  It  wouldn't  be  a  fair  dream  to  have,  be- 
hind her  back." 

Yet  it  was  difficult  not  to  dream.  Angela  was  so  de- 

134 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  135 

lighted  with  the  garden  city  watched  by  desert  hills;  and 
she  said  so  innocently,  "  What  sweet  houses  for  brides  and 
grooms !  Oh,  no  one  except  people  in  love  ought  to  live 
here!"  that  Nick  had  to  bang  the  door  of  his  dream- 
house  with  violence.  And  for  the  first  time  since  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Angela,  he  began  to  say,  "  Why  not  — 
why  shouldn't  I  try  to  make  her  care?  There  are  folks 
who  think  you  need  only  to  want  a  thing  enough  to  get  it." 

She  appeared  to  him  radiant  as  a  being  from  a  higher 
planet.  Never  could  she  be  content  with  his  world,  he 
had  told  himself.  Dimly  and  wordlessly  he  had  felt  that 
here  was  a  creature  who  had  reached  an  orchidlike  per- 
fection through  a  long  process  of  evolution,  and  genera- 
tions of  luxury.  The  earth  was  her  playground.  Men  in 
Greenland  hunted  seal,  and  in  Russia  beautiful  animals 
died,  merely  that  she  should  have  rich  fur  to  fold  round 
her  shoulders.  In  the  South  perfumes  were  distilled  for 
her.  There  were  whole  districts  engaged  in  weaving 
velvets  and  silks  that  she  might  have  dresses  worthy  of 
her  loveliness,  and  men  spent  their  lives  toiling  in  mines 
to  find  jewels  for  her  arms  and  fingers,  or  dived  under 
deep  waters  to  bring  up  pearls  for  her  pleasure.  It  was 
right  and  just  that  it  should  be  so,  for  there  was  nothing 
under  heaven  fairer  than  she.  And  since  such  things 
must  always  have  been  part  of  her  life,  because  she  was 
born  for  them  and  would  take  them  for  granted,  was  it 
reasonable  to  hope  that  she  would  waste  two  thoughts  on 
a  man  like  Nick  Hilliard,  a  fellow  reared  on  hardships, 
who  had  learned  to  read  in  night  schools,  and  had  con- 
sidered it  promotion  to  punch  cattle? 

All  this  was  as  true  to-day  in  Riverside  as  it  had  been 


136  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

in  New  York  and  New  Orleans.  Angela  was  prettier  than 
ever  in  the  simple  dress  she  wore  for  motoring,  and  the 
gray  silk  cap  that  framed  her  face,  making  a  halo  of  her 
pale  gold  hair.  Her  dainty  and  expensive  clothes  were  a 
part  of  her  individuality,  as  its  petals  are  of  a  rose;  and 
she  appeared  to  think  of  them  no  more  than  a  nun  thinks 
of  her  veil.  But  Nick  felt  this  morning  that  Angela  had 
come  down  from  her  shining  heights  to  be  human  with 
him.  She  laughed  like  a  schoolgirl,  in  sheer  pleasure  of 
motion  which  the  big  car  gave  after  martyrdom  with  the 
Model.  She  had  travelled  all  over  the  Old  World,  yet 
she  said  there  was  nothing  anywhere  prettier  than  River- 
side; no  such  petticoated  palms  as  those  that  trailed  the 
gray  fans  of  other  years  down  to  their  feet  like  the  feathers 
of  giant  owls;  no  such  pepper-trees;  no  such  cypresses 
even  in  Italy,  as  these  standing  black  as  burnt-out  torches 
against  the  desert  sky;  no  such  rose-covered  bungalows; 
and,  above  all,  no  hotel  so  quaint  as  the  Mission  Inn. 

The  hour  for  luncheon  was  past,  but  Nick  ordered 
flowers  and  a  feast  for  a  dream-bride.  Then,  while  it  was 
preparing,  the  two  walked  in  the  garden  court  and  under 
pergolas  where  bunches  of  wistaria,  lit  from  above  by  the 
sun,  hung  like  thousands  of  amethyst  lanterns. 

"I  shall  build  a  house  like  this  in  miniature,"  said 
Angela,  half  to  herself.  "I  can't  have  the  shrines  and  the 
'Mission'  Arches  with  the  bell-windows;  but  I  can  have 
the  court  and  the  arcades  and  the  pergolas;  and  a  well 
and  lots  of  fountains.  Inside  there  shall  be  walls  of 
natural  wood,  and  great  beams  across  the  ceilings,  and  big 
brick  chimneys  — '  Mission'  furniture  too,  and  Indian  rugs 
and  pottery.  I  can  hardly  wait  to  begin  that  house ! " 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  137 

"Where  will  it  be?"  Nick  asked,  afraid  of  the  answer. 

"In  California  somewhere,"  she  said. 

"You  mean  it?" 

"Oh,  yes!  I  don't  know  where,  yet.  I'm  falling  in 
love  with  the  South  now,  but  I  won't  let  myself  fall  too 
deep  in,  till  I've  seen  the  North." 

"If  you're  in  love,  can  you  keep  yourself  from  falling 
deeper  in?"  said  Nick.  "I  don't  think  I  could;  I'd  sure 
have  to  let  myself  go." 

It  had  been  so  good  to  see  the  forest  creature  at  the 
moment  when  he  was  needed  most,  that  Angela  had 
melted  toward  him  as  snow  melts  in  the  spring  sun.  She 
had  not  only  forgiven,  but  forgotten  —  for  the  moment  — 
that  there  had  been  things  to  forgive;  so  she  answered 
this  question  of  his,  humanly  and  simply.  "I  wonder?" 
she  said.  "If  it  were  not  a  question  of  a  country,  but  a 
person?  I  can't  tell.  I've  never  fallen  deep  in."  Then 
she  pulled  herself  up  abruptly.  "Luncheon  must  be 
ready,"  she  went  on  in  a  changed  voice.  "I'm  starving, 
aren't  you?" 

"  Starving  T"  Nick  answered  mechanically.  But  he  was 
saying  in  his  heart,  "She's  never  been  hi  love!  Hooray!" 

The  thought  shot  new  colour  into  existence.  "I'll  pull 
the  world  up  by  the  roots  to  get  her,"  he  thought.  "And 
she  wants  to  live  in  California!  Maybe,  if  I  try  to  make 
myself  all  over  again,  a  little  worthier  —  a  little  more  like 

what  she's  used  to,  at  last  she "  It  seemed  sacrilege 

to  finish  the  sentence. 

It  was  for  this  end,  to  "make  himself  more  like  what 
she  was  used  to,"  that  he  had  bought  the  new  clothes  in 
New  York.  They  had  not  been  a  success.  But,  luckily 


138  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

for  his  happiness  to-day,  he  did  not  know  how  Angela  had 
laughed  when  she  saw  the  shiny  shoes  outside  his  door. 

Never  was  a  luncheon  like  that  which  they  ate  together 
in  the  great  cool  dining-room,  whence  everybody  else  had 
vanished  long  ago.  Angela  sat  facing  one  of  the  big 
windows,  and  a  green  light  filtering  through  rose-arbours 
gave  her  skin  the  luminous,  pearly  reflections  that  artists 
love  to  paint.  Up  in  the  minstrels'  gallery  a  harpist 
played,  softly,  old  Spanish  airs. 

"Before  you  decide  where  to  live,  will  you  come  to  my 
part  of  the  country?"  Nick  asked,  his  eyes  drinking  in 
the  picture.  "There's  a  ranch  you'd  admire,  I  think. 
Not  mine.  I'd  like  you  to  see  that,  too.  But  the  one  I 
mean  is  a  show  place.  It  belongs  to  Mrs.  Gaylor,  the 
widow  of  my  old  boss.  She's  a  mighty  nice  woman,  and 
handsome  as  a  picture.  She's  pretty  lonely  and  likes 
visitors.  If  she  invites  you,  will  you  come?  " 

"Perhaps,  some  day,"  said  Angela,  in  a  mood  to  humour 
him,  because  everything  round  her  was  so  charming  that 
to  refuse  a  request  would  have  sounded  a  jarring  note. 
Not  that  she  had  the  slightest  intention  of  visiting  Mrs. 
Gaylor,  the  widow  of  Mr.  Hilliard's  "old  boss." 

"  But  I've  mapped  out  a  programme  for  myself  already," 
she  went  on,  "which  may  take  a  long  time,  for  if  I  like  a 
place  very  much  I  shan't  want  to  hurry  away.  For  in- 
stance, maybe  I  shall  have  a  whim  to  come  back  here*and 
stay  a  week  or  a  fortnight.  You  see,  some  one  I  loved 
dearly,  long  ago,  lived  in  California,  and  there  are  parts  of 
the  country  I  want  to  visit,  for  his  sake  as  well  as  my  own." 

This  was  a  blow  in  spite  of  her  late  confession.  But  in 
a  moment  he  took  courage.  If  this  girl  (who  looked  eigh- 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  139 

teen  and  couldn't  be  much  over  twenty)  had  loved  a  man 
long  ago,  that  man  must  have  been  a  father  or  an  uncle. 
And  with  a  sense  of  relief  he  remembered  the  miniature 
frame. 

"Would  you  tell  me  what  parts  you  want  to  see  most 
of  all?"  he  asked,  with  an  air  of  humility  which  was 
engaging  in  a  man  so  big,  so  strong,  and  brown. 

Angela's  eyes  smiled  mischief. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?"  she  catechized  him. 
"I  think  you'll  admit  that  after  —  after  several  things 
which  have  happened,  I've  a  right  to  ask  —  a  question, 
before  I  answer  yours." 

"I  know.  You're  afraid  I'll  want  to  be  following  you 
again,"  said  Nick.  "But  following  wasn't  in  my  mind. 
I  want  to  take  you  in  my  new  automobile." 

She  stared  in  amazement. 

"You  extraordinary  person!  As  if  I  could  do  such  a 
thing!" 

"Why  not?"  He  asked  it  meekly,  looking  boyish, 
ready  to  be  rebuked  and  snubbed  —  and  yet  to  make  his 
point.  "I  expect,  when  you  were  at  home  —  wherever 
that  was  —  you  were  used  to  travelling  sometimes  with 
your  maid,  in  a  motor,  and  nobody  else  except  your 
chauffeur?  "  (Nick  pronounced  this  word  rather  originally, 
but  this  was  a  detail.) 

"  Certainly.     That's  entirely  different." 

"Now  you've  got  a  cat  too." 

Angela  broke  into  laughter.  This  man,  and  this  day, 
were  unique.  She  was  delighted  with  herself  for  forgiving 
Mr.  Milliard.  Because,  of  course,  she  could  unforgive  him 
again  at  any  minute,  if  it  seemed  really  best. 


140  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

When  a  woman  laughs  at  your  bon  mot,  there  is  hope. 
There  is  also  happiness.  Nick  felt  both.  They  came  in  a 
gust,  like  a  spray  of  perfume  in  his  face,  taking  his  breath 
away.  "  I  believe  she'll  do  it,"  he  said  to  that  sympathetic 
chum  —  himself,  who  was  taking  the  kindliest  interest  in 
his  love  affairs.  "It's  up  to  me  now." 

"And  in  my  car  you'd  have  two  shuvvers.  What  with 
us  both,  and  your  Irish  maid,  and  your  black  cat,  wouldn't 
we  be  enough  to  take  care  of  you?  " 

"You're  not  a  real  chauffeur,"  said  Angela. 

"I've  been  qualifying  for  the  article,  and  if  I  do  say  it 
myself  I'm  as  smart  a  driver  this  minute  as  you  could 
find  in  California." 

Angela  shook  her  head.  "You  amuse  me,  because 
you're  quite,  quite  different  from  any  man  I  ever  saw, 
but  —  I'm  afraid  I  can't  engage  you  as  my  chauffeur." 

"Not  if  I  could  give  you  a  first-rate  character, 
ma'am?" 

"  Don't  call  me  '  ma  'am' ! "  Angela  reminded  him.  "It's 
too  realistic,  Mr.  Would-be-Chauffeur." 

"I  call  you  'Angel'  behind  your  back.  You  can't  say 
you  won't  be  an  angel,  because  'twould  be  irreligious." 

"I  used  to  play  at  being  one  when  I  was  a  wee  thing," 
said  Angela,  her  eyes  far  away.  "Bed  was  the  sky.  The 
pillows  and  sheets  were  white  clouds  tumbling  all  round 
me.  I  could  bury  myself  in  them.  I  made  believe  I  was 
disguised  as  a  child  by  day,  but  the  door  of  dreams  let  me 
into  heaven." 

"It  mostly  does,"  Nick  mumbled.  Then  he  said  aloud, 
"If  you  used  to  like  making  believe  then,  wouldn't  you 
just  try  it  for  a  little  while  now?  Make  believe  I'm  going 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  141 

to  take  you  round  in  my  car,  and  I'll  tell  you  some  of  the 
things  that  will  happen  to  us." 

"Well  —  it  couldn't  do  any  harm  to  make  believe  just 
for  a  few  minutes,  could  it?"  Angela  wondered  if  she 
were  flirting  with  the  forest  creature.  But  no.  Certainly 
not.  She  never  flirted,  not  even  with  the  men  of  her  own 
world,  as  most  of  the  young  women  she  knew  were  in  the 
habit  of  doing.  This  was  not  flirting.  It  was  only 
playing  —  and  letting  him  play  a  little  too  —  at  "making 
believe." 

"What  would  happen  to  us?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  shall  we  begin  with  to-day  —  what's  left  of  it?  — 
or  skip  on  to  to-morrow?" 

"I  hate  putting  off  things  till  to-morrow  —  if  they're 
pleasant." 

"So  do  I,  and  this  would  be  pleasant.  When  you'd 
seen  all  you  wanted  of  the  Mission  Inn,  I'd  drive  you 
along  Magnolia  Avenue,  that's  walled  in  with  those  owl- 
palms  in  gray  petticoats.  As  you  go  down  it  looks  like  a 
high  gray  wall  in  a  fort,  with  bunches  of  green  at  the  top, 
and  roses  trained  over  it.  We'd  run  up  Mount  Rubidoux, 
that  has  a  grand,  curlycue  sort  of  road  to  the  top,  where 
there's  one  of  the  old  Mission  bells,  and  a  cross,  and  a 
plaque  in  memory  of  the  best  Father  of  'em  all,  Juniperra 
Serra.  Rubidoux's  one  of  those  yellow  desert  mountains, 
the  biggest  of  the  lot,  with  a  view  of  Riverside,  and  miles 
of  orange  groves  like  a  big  garden  at  its  foot.  We'd  sit  up 
there  awhile,  and  I'd  tell  you  a  story  of  General  Fremont, 
when  he  passed  in  the  grand  old  days.  Then  we'd  spin  on 
to  Redlands,  and  see  the  park  and  the  millionaires' 
houses " 


142  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"I  like  the  lovers'  bungalows  best." 

"Do  you?     Would  you  like  one  better  for  yourself?  " 

"A  thousand  times ! "  But  she  broke  that  silken  thread 
quickly.  "  Go  on.  What  would  we  do  next?  " 

"Oh,  next  an  orange-packing  factory.  You'd  enjoy 
seeing  the  oranges  running  like  mad  down  a  sloping 
trough,  pretending  they're  all  equal,  till  the  boys  watch- 
ing spy  out  the  bruised  ones  that  are  sneaking  along,  and 
pitch  'em  away  before  they  can  say  'knife.'  By  and  by 
the  small,  no-account  oranges  are  sent  about  their  business, 
which  is  to  play  second  fiddle,  and  the  big,  noble-fellows, 
who're  worthy  to  succeed,  fall  first  into  the  hands  of  girls, 
who  wrap  them  up  in  squares  of  white  paper.  My  faith, 
but  those  girls'  hands  go  fast!  It  makes  you  feel  like  heat- 
lightning  just  to  watch  'em  fly!  Anybody  who  wants  to 
can  order  a  box  of  picked  oranges,  each  wrapped  in  paper, 
with  a  lady's  name  and  a  verse  in  her  honour  printed  on  it. 
Lots  of  fellows  do  that.  When  you'd  seen  the  factory  I'd 
drive  you  back  to  Los  Angeles,  and  we'd  get  there  after 
dark.  But  there's  a  searchlight  on  my  car  equal  to  a  light 
on  a  battleship,  and  her  name  alone's  enough  to  illuminate 
the  road.  I've  christened  her  Bright  Angel." 

He  paused  for  half  a  second;  but  if  the  analogy  meant 
anything  to  his  companion  she  did  not  choose  that  he 
should  know.  "And  then?"  she  said. 

"Then  —  if  you'd  seen  enough  of  Los  Angeles,  I'd  ask 
you  to  let  your  Irish  girl  pack  up.  And  I'd  start  off  with 
you  —  for  good.  I  mean,  you  and  the  maid,  and  the  cat, 
and  Billy.  Billy's  the  other  shuvver,  besides  me.  I'd 
take  you  to  Santa  Barbara." 

"That's  one  of  the  places  on  my  programme." 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  143 

"And  Monterey." 

"Another  of  my  places.  But  I  want  to  go  to  the 
Yosemite.  You  couldn't  motor  me  there." 

"I  could  guide  you.  I've  known  horses  longer  than 
I've  known  motors.  And  I  know  the  Yosemite.  Once  I 
got  hurt  in  a  kind  of  accident.  I  wasn't  good  for  much, 
for  a  while  afterward.  And  as  I  couldn't  do  any  work  I 
went  and  loafed  in  the  Yosemite  Valley.  I'd  always 
wanted  to  go.  It  was  grand.  But  it  would  be  heaven  to 
see  it  again  with  y  —  with  an  angel." 

Angela  traced  the  steel  embroidery  on  a  gray  suede  bag 
which  lay  on  the  table.  She  had  got  it  the  other  day  to 
serve  as  understudy  for  the  gold  bag  which  was  "taboo" 
for  public  use  at  present.  She  was  glad  that  the  forest 
creature  did  not  know,  and  never  would  know,  that  she 
had  secretly  bought  back  his  gold  bag.  If  he  found  out, 
it  might  be  his  turn  to  misunderstand. 

"How  were  you  hurt  in  an  accident?"  she  asked,  for 
the  sake  of  diverting  the  talk  from  angels. 

"It  was  in  a  fire,"  said  Nick. 

"Oh!     On  your  ranch." 

"  Xo.     In  San  Francisco." 

Her  interest  grew.     "In  the  great  fire?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  live  in  San  Francisco  then?" 

"No.     I  just  went  there." 

"  I  think  I  guess.     You  went  on  purpose  to  help?  " 

"I  felt  as  if  every  man  ought  to  do  what  he  could.  I 
couldn't  do  much.  Shall  we  go  on  making  believe?  " 

"You  don't  like  talking  of  your  good  deeds." 

"Oh,  good  deeds!     I  don't  like  talking  of  myself  when 


144  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

there  are  better  things  to  talk  of.  I  could  make  you  out  a 
tour  in  the  Yosemite,  Mrs.  May.  You  shouldn't  travel  by 
the  ordinary  stages.  I'd  get  you  something  special,  for 
the  driving  parts;  and  you  should  have  the  finest  trail 
pony  in  California.  I'd  give  ten  years  off  my  life  to  show 
you  the  Big  Trees.  There  are  some  mighty  fine  ones  in 
other  places,  you  know;  the  Santa  Cruz  forest  is  splendid. 
But  it's  the  Mariposa  Big  Trees,  in  the  Yosemite,  I  mean. 
We'd  drive  from  Wawona  early  in  the  morning,  one 
day,  and  stay  till  the  sunset.  You  can't  think  what 
sunset's  like  among  the  giant  Sequoias,  with  the  red 
light,  like  a  rain  of  ruby  stars,  falling  through  the 
branches.  And  those  trees  are  God's  own  architecture. 
I  guess  even  you  have  never  seen  a  cathedral  to  touch 
it;  because  there  can't  be  one.  All  day  you  should 
stay  in  the  forest.  I'd  find  you  places  for  lunch  and 
dinner,  and  the  squirrels  would  come  and  help  you 
eat.  " 

"It  does  sound  nice,"  said  Angela,  bewitched  by  the 
picture. 

"It  would  be  —  the  nicest  thing  that  ever  happened. 
Only  *  nice  '  ain't  a  big  enough  word.  Cant  it  come  true? 
Think,  with  your  cat  and  your  Kate  and  your  trail  guide? 
You  called  me  a  'friend  in  need.'  Can't  I  be  your  guide 
in  need?  You'd  have  to  get  a  guide  for  the  Valley.  Why 
not  me?" 

"We've  only  known  each  other  a  few  days." 

"Any  other  guide  would  be  a  stranger.  And  I  guess, 
Mrs.  May,  if  that's  all,  we  know  each  other  as  well  as  a 
good  many,  who  call  themselves  friends,  get  to  know  one 
another  in  years.  Do  you  ever  find  out  anything  about 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  145 

people  that  you  didn't  feel  the  first  moment  you  set  eyes 
on  them?  " 

"Well — you  did  save  my  life!"  she  conceded.  "I 
can't  get  away  from  that." 

"Do  you  mind  not  getting  away  from  it? " 

"No-o." 

"Then  will  you  take  me  for  your  shuwer  and  trial 
guide  to  those  places?  I  won't  ask  you  any  more,  now. 
You  can  send  me  packing  afterward,  if  you  don't  think  I 
live  up  to  the  character  Mr.  Morehouse  has  given  you  of 
me." 

"  Mr.  Morehouse !  I  haven't  heard  from  him  since  my 
first  day  in  New  York." 

"  I  mean  the  other  Mr.  Morehouse,  his  brother  —  your 
banker.  Henry  wired  to  him  from  New  York.  And  he 
was  writing  you,  to  say,  if  you  hadn't  got  anybody  who 
knew  the  ropes  to  see  you  through  your  excursions,  you 
couldn't  do  better  than  let  Hilliard  of  Lucky  Star  be  your 
pilot  —  kind  of  courier,  you  know.  Both  the  Morehouses 
vouch  for  me,  though  it's  Henry  who's  my  friend.  All 
strangers  who  come  to  have  a  look  around  California  take 
a  Californian  to  show  them  the  sights.  If  you  haven't  got 
Mr.  Morehouse's  letter,  it  must  be  waiting  for  you.  I 
reckon  it  ought  to  have  arrived  last  night  or  this  morning. 
And  if  you  find  he  recommends  me  as  a  trustworthy  man, 
will  you  think  the  plan  over,  before  you  say  no?  " 

"  You  take  my  breath  away !  But  —  ye-es.  I'll  think 
it  over.  I  suppose  one  really  can  do  things  in  America 
one  wouldn't  do  anywhere  else?" 

"That's  why  there's  so  much  emigration,"  replied 
Nick,  gravely. 


146  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"And  I  should  be  studying  California  through  you,  I 
suppose  ?  I  begin  to  see  that  you're  a  typical  Calif ornian. ' ' 

"No,"  Nick  contradicted  her.  "You  mustn't  get  hold 
of  that  impression.  It  wouldn't  be  playing  the  game  for 
me  to  let  you.  The  typical  Californian's  a  very  different 
man:  a  grand  chap,  and  I  reckon  more  like  the  sort  you're 
used  to." 

Angela  smiled.     "Describe  him." 

"Well,  I'm  not  much  at  description.  You'll  meet  the 
kind  I  mean  when  you  get  to  San  Francisco,  if  you  don't 
before.  The  two  Morehouses  are  the  right  sort;  and  lots 
of  others.  John  Falconer's  one  of  the  best.  Have  you 
ever  heard  of  him?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Angela.     "I  remember  his  name.     My — 
friends  of  mine  have  spoken  of  him,  though  he  was  younger, 
and  made  his  fame  later." 

"I  should  like  you  to  come  across  him,"  said  Nick,  full 
of  enthusiasm  for  the  man  he  admired,  and  devoid  of 
small  jealousy.  "Falconer  was  one  of  the  grandest 
lawyers  California  ever  had;  and  in  a  way  he  made 
himself,  though  he  came  of  the  best  blood  we've  got." 
(Nick  would  not  have  dreamed  of  mentioning  that  his 
own  blood  was  as  good.  He,  like  most  men  of  the  West, 
thought  more  of  his  horses'  pedigree  than  his  own,  and  he 
would  as  readily  have  boasted  of  his  handsome  looks  as 
of  his  father's  people  —  the  people  who  had  disowned  that 
father,  and  sent  him  to  starve.  But  now  he  was  boasting 
of  and  for  California.  That  was  legitimate.)  "Falconer's 
the  wisest  and  most  far-seeing  politician  we  have,"  he 
went  on,  "and  deserves  his  luck  —  the  money's  he's  made 
and  the  name  he's  won.  He's  high  up  on  one  of  our 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  147 

biggest  railroads,  too,  since  he  gave  up  law  because  he'd 
no  time  to  follow  it;  and  he's  not  much  over  forty  now. 
That's  California,  Mrs.  May.  That's  typical,  falconer's 
as  different  from  a  rough  fellow  like  me,  as  —  as  I  hope  I'm 
different  from  Sealman." 

"You're  a  loyal  friend,"  Angela  said,  admiring  the  fire 
in  his  eyes  and  the  glow  on  his  face  as  she  would  have 
admired  an  impressionist  sketch  for  a  portrait  by  Sargent. 
"Only  this  man  ought  to  be  a  fresco,"  she  told  herself 
as  she  followed  out  the  picture-simile.  "He's  too  big  and 
spirited  and  unconventional  to  be  put  into  a  frame." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  a  personal  friend  of  Falconer's,"  Nick 
hastened  to  explain.  "Wish  I  were!  I've  met  him  when 
he's  been  to  the  Gaylor  ranch  —  the  ranch  I  want  you  to 
visit.  But  I  expect  he'd  hardly  remember  me.  And  now 
you  see  that  I'm  not  typical,  maybe  you'll  think  there's  no 
place  for  me  on  your  map.  But  I  have  my  uses.  I'm 
warranted  sure  and  sound.  And  wouldn't  I  just  be  ready 
to  die  tryin',  if  you'd  let  me,  to  give  you  the  time  of  your 
life  in  California?" 

"I've  always  heard  that  Calif ornian  men  are  chivalrous 
and  kind." 

"Oh,  kind!     That's  a  funny  word." 

"And  these  plans  you"  draw  for  me  are  —  are  the  sort  of 
thing  to  make  a  woman  feel  glad  there  are  men  in  the 
world  willing  to  take  so  much  trouble " 

"They're  the  sort  of  thing  to  make  a  man  glad  there  are 
women  —  or  better  still,  a  woman  —  to  work  for,"  he 
amended,  so  good  to  look  at  in  his  enthusiasm,  that  An- 
gela's eyes  would  not  be  banished  to  the  suede  bag  or 
to  the  flowers  on  the  table  —  Nick's  flowers. 


148  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"But,"  she  went  on,  "but- 

" Don't  say  that  word  to-day,"  Nick  begged.  "What- 
ever you  decide  afterward,  let  me  take  you  up  to  Rubidoux 
and  on  to  Redlands?  Make  up  your  mind  about  the  rest 
when  you've  seen  Mr.  Morehouse's  letter." 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "Just  for  to-day,  the  'make- 
believe'  shall  come  true." 

Nick  turned  away  his  face  lest  it  should  betray  him. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  quietly.  "Well,  then,  I  reckon 
it's  time  I  went  to  round  up  Billy.  And  we'll  hit  the 
breeze  for  Rubidoux  and  Redlands." 

They  saw  the  park  and  the  millionaires'  houses  and  the 
orange-packing,  passing  on  the  way  picturesque  little 
towns,  with  Indian  and  Mexican  names,  which  charmed 
the  eyes  and  ears  of  Angela.  And  always  the  air  was 
sweet  with  scent  of  orange-blossoms,  roses,  and  alfalfa, 
the  life  of  the  country.  Once,  at  Redlands,  Nick  excused 
himself  and  jumped  out  of  the  car  at  a  shop.  He  was 
gone  three  or  four  minutes;  but  when  he  came  back  he 
said  nothing  of  any  purchase.  - 

It  was  only  when  he  was  bidding  Mrs.  May  good  night 
at  her  hotel  door  that,  with  a  schoolboy  air,  he  pulled  a 
small  package  out  of  his  pocket. 

"Talking  of  typical  Californian  things,"  he  said,  trying 
to  seem  careless,  "here's  one.  I  thought,  as  it's  only  a 
little  bouquet  in  a  bottle  —  a  few  flowers  distilled  —  you 
might  accept  it.  But  if  you  want  to  give  it  back,  I'll  take 
it  like  a  lamb.  It's  —  because  you  love  California  —  I 
want  you  to  have  it.  Don't  open  the  paper  till  you  get 
indoors.  And  you'll  send  me  word  whether  you  can  go 
along  farther  in  the  country  of  make-believe?  " 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  149 

"Of  course.     I  '11  telephone." 

"Early  enough  for  us  to  start,  if  —  if  the  answer's  yes?  " 

"As  soon  as  I  wake  up.     Will  that  do?  " 

"That  will  do.  And  let  it  depend  on  your  dreams.  I'll 
trust  my  luck  to  them.  Because  dreams  are  in  the  country 
of  make-believe;  sometimes  they  are  good  —  so  good  they 
make  you  want  to  go  on  and  on.  Besides,  there'll  be  the 
Morehouse  letter.  I  bank  on  that.  But  more  on  the 
dreams." 

The  letter  had  come.  Angela  found  it  when  she  got  back 
to  her  hotel,  and  meant  to  read  it  at  once,  as  a  letter  from 
so  important  a  man  deserved.  But  Nick's  package  was  in 
her  hand,  and  she  was  tempted  to  untie  the  gold  string. 

Inside  was  a  fancy  bottle  of  perfume,  bound  round  with 
quantities  of  narrow  rose-coloured  ribbon. 

"Parfait  d'Amour.  Made  of  California  Flowers," 
announced  the  blossomy  label.  And  Angela  broke  into 
laughter,  repeating  the  name  aloud,  "Parfait  d'Amour!" 

She  had  laughed  very  often  that  day. 

"He  knew  I  wouldn't  give  it  back  to  him,"  she  thought. 
"That  would  be  worse  than  keeping  it  and  saying  nothing." 

She  put  the  bottle  down  on  her  dressing-table,  and  took 
up  the  letter  from  Mr.  Morehouse  the  banker.  It  was  a 
pleasant  letter,  extremely  satisfactory  from  Hillard's 
point  of  view.  It  was  evident  that,  in  the  two  brothers' 
opinion,  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  accept  the 
services  of  Mr.  Nickson  Hilliard,  in  seeing  California. 
The  banker,  who  alone  knew  (and  would  not  tell)  that 
Mrs.  May  was  the  Princess  di  Sereno,  said  "Hilliard,  who 
was  to  be  introduced  to  you  in  New  York  if  my  brother 
had  not  been  ill,  is  a  man  your  father  would  have  approved. 


150  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

You  are  not  travelling  alone,  I  understand,  but  have  your 
servant.  You  can  trust  Hilliard  as  a  kind  of  glorified 
guide,  which  he  wishes  to  be,  I  understand,  partly  out  of 
friendship  for  my  brother  (who  hoped  to  show  you  about), 
partly  because  he — in  common  with  all  of  us  Calif  ornians — 
is  proud  of  our  State,  and  likes  nothing  better  than  bring- 
ing its  beauty  spots  to  the  notice  of  sympathetic  strangers. 
That,  I  am  sure;  the  daughter  of  my  old  friend  Merriam 
must  be;  and  I  am  looking  forward  to  her  arrival  in  San 
Francisco,  which  place  I  am  too  busy  to  leave  at  present. 
I  hope  our  meeting  may  be  soon;  and  wish  I  were  a 
married  man,  that  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of  enter- 
taining *  Mrs.  May '  in  my  house." 

When  Angela  had  read  the  letter  twice  she  let  it  fall, 
and  again  took  up  the  bottle  of  perfume.  Untying  the 
bow  of  pink  ribbon,  she  pulled  out  the  heart-shaped  glass 
stopper,  and  breathed  the  fragrance  of  "Parfait  d' Amour, 
made  from  California  flowers." 

The  name  might  be  laughable,  but  the  fragrance  was 
exquisite  as  the  sweet  air  among  the  orange  groves. 

Angela  sighed,  without  knowing  that  she  sighed,  as  she 
put  the  bottle  dowrn  and  pushed  it  away. 

She  did  not  even  look  at  it  again  until  she  was  ready  to 
switch  off  the  electric  light,  and  try  to  sleep,  after  Kate 
had  finished  her  ministrations.  Then,  once  more,  Mrs. 
May  sniffed  daintily  at  the  "Parfait  d' Amour,"  as  a  bird 
hovers  near  a  tempting  crumb  thrown  by  a  hand  it  fears. 
She  wondered  what  flowers  made  up  this  sweetness,  so 
different  from  any  perfume  she  had  known. 

"It's  California,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Essence  of 
California." 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  151 

Long  after  she  had  gone  to  bed,  Angela  lay  awake,  not 
restless,  but  vaguely  excited,  as  she  listened  to  a  mouse  in 
the  hinterland  of  the  wall,  and  thought  her  own  thoughts, 
that  floated  from  subject  to  subject.  But  always  she 
could  smell  the  perfume  which  —  or  she  imagined  it  —  filled 
the  room  with  its  sweetness.  It  was  a  pity  that  the  scent 
had  been  given  such  a  silly  name! 

"If  the  people  of  this  country  can  be  unconventional 
when  they  like,  why  shouldn't  /  be  unconventional,  if  I 
like?"  she  asked  of  the  darkness.  "It's  so  gay  and 
amusing  to  make  believe,  and  so  —  beautiful."  It 
occurred  to  her  that  she  had  just  begun  to  live.  Now 
a  door  had  opened  before  her  eyes,  and  she  saw  a  new 
world  that  was  big  and  glorious,  ready  to  give  her  a 
welcome. 

"There's  something  in  being  a  married  woman,  and 
going  about  as  I  choose,"  she  thought,  "even  if  it  is  only 
in  the  country  of  make-believe.  Why  shouldn't  I  do 
what  he  asks  me  to  do?  I'm  only  Mrs.  May,  whom 
nobody  knows!  And  it  would  be  fun.  I  haven't  had 
any  fun  since  I  was  a  little,  little  girl." 

Perhaps  Nick  had  been  right  to  trust  his  luck  to  her 
dreams;  or  perhaps  it  was  the  influence  of  the  letter.  In 
any  case,  at  eight  o'clock  next  morning,  Angela,  with  her 
hair  hanging  over  her  shoulders,  and  dreams  still  in  her 
eyes,  was  ringing  up  Mr.  Hilliard  by  telephone  at  the 
Alexandria  Hotel. 

"It's  only  to  say  that  you  may  take  me  —  and  Kate  — 
and  the  cat  —  and  some  luggage  —  to  Santa  Barbara  this 
morning.  That  is,  if  you  still  want  to?  Oh,  thanks! 


152  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

You're  very  kind.  It's  settled  only  about  to-day,  you 
know!  Yes.  Ten  o'clock  will  suit  me." 

She  hummed  a  dance-tune  while  Kate  dressed  her.  And 
the  room  was  still  sweet  with  the  fragrance  of  that 
strange  perfume,  "Parfait  d' Amour  made  from  California 
flowers." 

She  sat  beside  Nick  in  the  yellow  car,  Kate  (and  black 
Timmy  in  a  basket)  behind  with  the  sharp-nosed  youth 
whom  Hilliard  called  his  "assistant."  There  was  also 
luggage  —  enough  to  last  for  a  few  days,  the  rest  had  been 
sent  on  by  train  to  San  Francisco. 

Nick  enjoyed  hearing  Angela  exclaim,  "This  is  like 
Algeciras!"  "That's  like  the  Italian  Riviera!"  as  the  car 
ran  on.  It  seemed  wonderful  that  she  should  have  seen 
all  the  most  beautiful  places  in  Europe,  that  she  should 
hold  their  pictures  in  her  mind  now,  comparing  them  with 
these  new  ones,  yet  that  her  heart  should  be  in  the  New 
World  —  his  world. 

Near  Santa  Barbara  the  mountains  came  crowding 
down  to  the  sea,  as  at  Mentone;  and  on  the  horizon 
floated  islands,  mysterious  as  the  mirage  of  Corsica  seen 
from  the  Italian  shore  at  sunrise.  Over  there,  Nick  told 
her,  was  a  grotto,  painted  in  many  lovely  colours;  and 
boats  dived  into  it  on  the  crest  of  a  wave.  He  had  not 
heard  of  the  Blue  Grotto  at  Capri,  but  she  described  it; 
and  so  they  went  on,  each  with  something  to  tell  that  the 
other  did  not  know. 

Two  new  battleships  were  trying  their  speed  in  the 
channel  between  Santa  Barbara  and  the  islands,  and  as 
the  car  turned  into  the  park  of  the  hotel  the  rivals  raced 
into  sight.  Angela's  eyes  were  dazzled  with  the  brilliant 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  153 

sunshine,  the  blue  of  the  sea,  and  the  flaming  colour  of  the 
geranium  borders  that  burned  like  running  fire  the  length 
of  the  mile-long  drive.  The  veranda  was  crowded  with 
people,  but  thinking  only  of  the  great  ships  in  the  bay 
she  was  conscious  of  seeing  no  one  until  a  voice  exclaimed, 
"Why,  Princess,  what  a  surprise  to  meet  you  here! " 

It  was  a  voice  she  knew,  and  if  she  could  have  stepped 
back  into  the  car,  pulled  her  motor-veil  over  her  eyes,  and 
asked  Nick  Hilliard  to  drive  away,  she  would  have  been 
glad.  But  one  does  not  do  these  things.  One  faces  emer- 
gencies, and  makes  the  best  of  them.  Angela  had  been 
foolish,  she  told  herself,  not  to  think  of  running  across 
somebody  she  knew.  If  she  wished  to  hide  herself,  she 
must  be  more  prudent;  but  for  this  time  it  was  too  late. 
There  was  Theodora  Dene,  of  all  people,  waiting  to  meet 
her  at  the  top  of  the  steps ! 

"Oh,  bother!"  Angela  had  just  time  to  whisper,  before 
she  found  herself  shaking  hands  with  a  tall,  red-haired, 
hatless  girl  in  a  white  dress.  Theo  Dene  never  wore  a  hat 
unless  it  were  absolutely  necessary,  for  her  hair  was  her 
great  attraction.  It  was  splendid  in  the  sun,  as  she  came 
out  of  the  shade  to  stand  in  the  blaze  of  light,  shaking 
Angela's  hand  and  sending  a  long-lashed  glance  to  Nick. 
She  never  looked  at  a  woman  if  there  were  a  man  worth 
looking  at  within  eye-shot.  But  she  had  no  hypocrisy 
about  this.  She  did  not  pretend  to  be  a  friend  of  women, 
though  she  was  nice  to  them  if  they  did  not  interfere  with 
her  and  there  was  nothing  better  to  do.  She  was  twenty- 
eight,  and  confessed  to  twenty-four.  She  danced  as  well 
as  a  professional,  sang  French  songs  in  what  she  called  a 
"twilight  voice,"  dressed  better  than  most  married 


154  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

women,  did  daring  things,  and  had  written  two  books 
which  shocked  Puritans.  Some  of  her  own  experiences 
had  been  worked  into  her  novels,  which  made  them  read 
realistically;  and  clergymen  in  England  and  America  had 
preached  against  them;  so,  of  course,  they  were  a  great 
success  and  sold  enormously.  Miss  Dene  herself  was  also 
a  great  success.  She  went  where  she  liked,  alone  if  she 
liked,  and  during  a  visit  to  Rome  she  had  lured  desirable 
men  from  ladies  who  were  engaged  in  flirting  with  them. 
Angela,  who  was  not  flirting  with  any  one,  had  been 
amused  by  the  strange  girl,  but  now  she  would  have 
preferred  a  chance  encounter  with  almost  anybody  else. 

"  Please  call  me  Mrs.  May,"  she  whispered,  as  they  shook 
hands.  "I  don't  want  to  be  known  by  the  other  name." 

The  tall  young  woman  in  white  took  in  the  situation,  or 
a  view  of  it,  and  the  long  green  eyes  (which  she  loved  and 
copied  for  her  heroines)  smiled  in  a  way  that  fascinated 
some  people  and  displeased  others.  Angela  thought  that, 
with  the  strong  sunlight  bringing  out  the  value  of  red  hair, 
black  brows,  white  skin,  and  white  frock,  she  was  like  a 
striking  poster,  sketched  in  a  few  daring  lines,  with  splashes 
of  unshaded  colour  dashed  in  between. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  May?"  the  girl  amended  her 
greeting.  "I  thought  I  must  be  dreaming  you." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I'm  not  dreaming  myself,"  said 
Angela. 

"  I  hope  you  haven't  come  here  for  your  health?  " 

"I  wanted  to  see  California." 

Miss  Dene  laughed.  "  That  doesn't  sound  exciting.  But 
perhaps  it  is."  She  glanced  again  at  Hilliard,  to  whom  a 
porter  had  come  for  directions  about  luggage.  Nick  was 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  155 

telling  him  that  only  Mrs.  May's  and  the  maid's  luggage 
Was  to  go  in.     He  intended  to  stop  at  another  hotel. 

"Oh,  do  ask  That  to  lunch  with  you,  and  invite  me  and 
my  friends  to  your  table,"  the  girl  suggested,  in  a  stage 
whisper.  "I  never  saw  anything  so  beautiful.  I  must 
know  him.  I've  been  seeking  a  hero  for  my  new  book 
which  I'm  going  to  write  about  California,  and  I  feel  he's 
the  one.  Pity  the  sorrows  of  the  poor  author!  If  you 
don't,"  and  she  laughed  to  take  away  the  sting,  "I'll 
tell  every  one  who  you  are.  The  reporters  will  get  you  — 
as  they  have  me.  But  I  liked  it,  and  you  wouldn't." 

Angela  wondered  why  she  had  ever  admired  red-haired 
women;  and  as  for  long,  narrow  green  eyes,  she  now 
thought  them  hideous.  She  was  sure,  in  spite  of  the 
laugh,  that  Miss  Dene  was  capable  of  keeping  her  word. 

"I  intended  to  ask  him  to  lunch  with  me  in  any  case," 
she  said  calmly;  and  this  was  true.  But  it  was  to  have 
been  a  repetition  of  yesterday;  quiet  and  peaceful,  and 
idyllic.  "He  is  a  Mr.  Hilliard  who  has  —  been  detailed  by 
a  friend  of  my  father's  to  show  me  some  places  he  knows. 
That's  his  car.  If  you  and  your  friends  would  care  to  join 
us,  I  should  be  delighted  of  course."  Then  she  turned 
away,  moving  back  a  step  or  two  nearer  the  edge  of  the 
veranda,  and  thus  closer  to  Nick. 

"I  hope  you  mean  to  have  lunch  with  me  here,  Mr. 
Hilliard?"  she  said. 

He  looked  up,  his  eyes  asking  if  she  really  wanted  him, 
or  if  politeness  dictated  the  invitation.  Hers  gave  no  cue,, 
so  he  did  the  simplest  and  most  direct  thing,  which  was 
to  him  the  most  natural  thing. 

"I  should  like  to,  very  much,"  he  said.     "But  you've 


156  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

found  friends.  I  could  come  back  afterward,  and  take 
you  around  Santa  Barbara,  unless ' 

"One  of  the  friends  was  glad  when  she  heard  you  being 
invitecl,"  Theo  Dene  broke  in.  "And  the  other  friends 
are  so  new,  Mrs.  May  hasn't  met  them  yet.  You  shall  be 
introduced  all  together  in  a  bunch." 

Of  course,  at  that  Nick  came  up  the  steps  and  joined 
Angela.  He  had  a  curious  feeling  as  if  he  ought  to  be 
defending  her  from  something;  and  at  the  same  time  a 
sensation  of  relief  when  he  heard  her  once  again  called 
"Mrs.  May."  "Princess"  was  only  a  sort  of  pet  name, 
no  doubt.  That  was  what  he  had  hoped  when  the  word 
caught  his  startled  attention.  He  would  not  like  to  have 
her  turn  into  a  real  princess.  An  angel  she  was  for  him, 
and  might  be,  without  seeming  hopelessly  remote  some- 
how; but  the  pedestal  of  a  princess  was  cold  as  a  block  of 
marble. 

The  poster-simile  did  not  occur  to  Nick;  but  he  thought 
that  the  red-haired  girl  with  the  self-conscious  eyes, 
standing  beside  Mrs.  May,  was  like  a  coloured  lithograph 
in  a  magazine,  compared  with  a  delicate  painting  in  a 
picture  gallery,  such  as  he  loved  to  go  and  see  in  San 
Francisco.  Miss  Dene's  peculiar  attraction,  strong  for 
many  men,  left  him  cold,  although  he  might  have  felt  it 
if  he  had  never  seen  Angela. 

"I'm  travelling  with  Mrs.  Harland,  and  her  brother,  Mr. 
Falconer,  in  his  private  car,"  Theo  explained.  She  turned 
to  them.  "Mrs.  May  won't  mind  my  claiming  her  as 
a  friend  I  hope.  She  was  immensely  nice  to  me  in 
Rome.  And  we've  met  in  London,  too.  I  don't  know 
why  I  was  surprised  to  see  her.  Every  one  comes  to 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  157 

this    country.      And    Mr.    Hilliard,  perhaps,  you  both 
know?" 

"We  have  met,"  said  John  Falconer,  whom  Nick  had 
praised  yesterday  as  the  "typical"  man  of  California. 
He  put  out  his  hand,  and  Nick  took  it,  pleased  and  some- 
what surprised  by  the  recognition.  For  he  was  in  his  own 
eyes  an  insignificant  person  compared  to  John  Falconer, 
who  had  done  things  worth  doing  in  the  world. 

Angela  remembered  Nick's  eulogy  of  the  man.  He  was 
about  forty,  as  tall  as  Hilliard,  though  built  more  heavily. 
Nick  was  clean  shaven,  and  Falconer  wore  a  close-cut 
brown  beard,  which  gave  him  somewhat  the  air  of  a  naval 
officer,  though  his  face  was  not  so  deeply  tanned.  His 
features  were  strong,  and  behind  his  clear  eyes  thoughts 
seemed  to  pass  as  clouds  move  under  the  surface  of  a  deep 
lake.  Such  a  man  was  born  to  be  a  leader.  No  one  could 
look  at  him  and  not  see  that. 

Mrs.  Harland,  his  sister,  who  —  as  Nick  was  aware  — 
kept  house  and  entertained  for  Falconer,  was  as  like  him  as 
a  very  feminine  woman  can  be  like  an  extremely  masculine 
man;  and,  in  fact,  they  were  twins.  Ralph  Harland,  an 
Englishman,  who  had  owned  a  California  ranch,  was  dead; 
and  when  his  widow  was  not  in  Europe  she  stayed  with 
her  brother. 

They  all  talked  together  for  a  few  minutes,  or  Theo 
Dene  talked  and  let  the  others  speak  occasionally.  Then 
Nick  said  that  he  must  take  his  car  to  the  garage,  but 
would  come  back  for  luncheon;  and  when  he  had  flashed 
away,  Miss  Dene  invited  herself  to  Mrs.  May's  room. 
"Do  let  me  go  with  you,"  she  pleaded,  with  a  girlish  air 
which  she  liked  to  put  on  with  married  women  younger 


158  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

than  herself.  She  thought  that  amusing.  It  impressed 
upon  them  the  fact  that  she  was  a  girl  —  free,  with  life 
before  her.  And,  indeed,  "The  Free  Lance"  was  a  nick- 
name of  hers,  which  she  liked  rather  than  disliked. 

Of  course,  Angela  said,  "Do  come."  She  had  found  out 
that  she  was  tired  of  Miss  Dene.  Still,  she  was  curious  to 
hear  what  she  would  say. 

Kate  had  already  opened  her  mistress's  luggage,  and 
spread  gold  and  crystal  toilet  things  about.  There  were 
flowers,  too,  on  the  sitting-room  tables  and  mantel,  Cali- 
fornia poppies  with  flaming  orange  hearts.  Nick  had 
telegraphed  for  these;  but  Angela  supposed  that  they  had 
been  ordered  by  the  "management."  This  impression 
was  unlikely  to  be  contradicted,  because  Nick  had  wanted 
her  to  have  the  flowers,  not  to  get  the  credit  for  giving 
them.  But  Theodora  Dene,  who  was  experienced  and 
shrewd  in  matters  of  the  heart,  wondered  about  the  poppies. 
She  made  no  mention  of  them,  however,  to  Angela. 

"I  wanted  you  to  myself  for  a  minute,"  she  explained, 
"to  tell  you  I  won't  forget  you  are  Mrs.  May  —  toujours 
Mrs.  May.  And  you  needn't  tell  me  —  anything,  unless 
you  like." 

"I  have  told  you  why  I  came  to  California,"  said 
Angela.  "I  came  to  see  it." 

"And  I  do  think  you're  seeing  it  in  the  nicest  way!" 
Miss  Dene  commented,  sweetly.  "I  came  for  something 
quite  different.  I  don't  one  bit  mind  confessing." 

"To  write  a  book  about  California?" 

"That  was  what  I  said  to  reporters.  And  that  I  was 
going  to  visit  Mrs.  Harland.  She's  quite  a  dear,  and  I 
made  her  ask  me,  last  time  she  was  in  England,  because 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  159 

that  was  the  first  time  I  met  her  brother.  I  really  came 
over  with  the  idea  of  marrying  him.  He's  splendid,  and 
has  loads  of  money  —  which  I  badly  need,  for  I've  spent 
every  penny  I've  made  from  my  books,  and  I've  only  eight 
hundred  a  year  of  my  own.  That  won't  buy  my  frocks! 
I  took  the  greatest  fancy  to  him.  But  I  see  now  it's  no 
use.  Rather  a  bore !  One  hates  to  fail  —  and  I'm  not  used 
to  failure.  However,  there's  a  great  romance  —  which  is 
one  consolation.  I'm  thinking  whether  or  not  I  shall 
use  it  for  the  book.  I'd  like  to  —  only  Mr.  Falconer's  so 
well  known.  Perhaps  I  shall  pick  up  another  plot.  Any- 
how, I'm  recovering  from  the  blow,  and  beginning  to  take 
notice  —  as  they  say  of  babies  and  widows.  That  brown 
man  of  yours  is  a  dream  of  beauty.  Do  you  mind  if  I 
smoke?" 

"No.  And  he  isn't  mine,"  said  Angela,  taking  off  her 
motor-veil  in  front  of  the  mirror. 

"Well,  then,  dear  Princess,  if  he  isn't  yours,  and  you 
don 't  want  him  to  play  with,  do  hand  him  over  to  me.  I 
won't  grab  him,  if  you  want  him  yourself.  You  were  too 
nice  to  me  in  Rome." 

"You  saw  in  Rome  that  I  didn't  play."  Angela  stabbed 
a  hatpin  viciously  into  her  hat. 

"There  were  cats  there.  Here  there  aren't  —  at  least 
not  any  who  know  the  mouse." 

Angela  daintily  ceased  to  be  a  fellow-being,  in  a  dis- 
concerting way  she  had  when  she  chose,  and  became  a 
high  personage.  She  did  this  without  a  word,  without  a 
gesture,  without  even  lifting  her  eyebrows.  There  was 
merely  a  change  of  atmosphere.  Miss  Dene  felt  it,  but 
she  did  not  care  here  as  she  would  have  cared  in  Rome. 


160  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

There,  the  young  Princess  di  Sereno  could  have  made  or 
marred  her  socially.  In  California  she  was  on  the  same 
ground  as  Mrs.  May.  Besides,  she  knew  a  thing  about 
Mrs.  May  which,  for  some  reason  or  other,  Mrs.  May  did 
not  want  other  people  to  know.  So  Theo  sat  on  a  green 
sofa  and  smoked  a  cigarette,  hoping  that  she  looked 
like  a  snake  charmer  with  the  sinuous,  serpentine  smoke- 
loops  weaving  and  writhing  round  her  head. 

"Pray  don't  joke  in  that  way  before  any  one  else,"  said 
Angela.  "It  is  rather  horrid,  don't  you  think?  No 
doubt  Mr.  Hilliard  will  be  delighted  to  have  you  '  play ' 
with  him,  if  you  see  enough  of  each  other  to  make  it  worth 
while  wasting  your  energy." 

As  she  spoke,  she  wrestled  with  a  violent  desire  to  show 
Miss  Dene  that  Nick  was  not  to  be  detached  from  his 
present  position  of  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend. 

"I  don't  do  that  sort  of  thing  with  'energy.'  I  do  it 
with  magnetism,"  Theo  drawled.  Her  cigarette  was 
smoked  out,  and  she  got  up.  "  Well,  I  must  run  down  to 
Mrs.  Harland,  I  suppose.  We  arrived  only  this  morning, 
early,  from  Monterey,  and  to-morrow  we're  going  on  to 
Paso  Robles.  That's  where  Mr.  Falconer's  romance 
comes  in.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Paso  Robles?" 

"Yes,"  said  Angela.  "My  father  owned  land  there, 
with  a  warm  sulphur  lake.  There's  a  legend  about  it, 
which  he  used  to  tell  me.  The  place  is  sold  now.  But 
I'm  going  to  see  it  —  because  of  the  legend.  I  had  photo- 
graphs of  the  old  Mission  —  and  of  the  lake,  too." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  know,  then,  there's  a  big  hotel 
at  Paso  Robles  and  a  'cure.'  I  never  heard  of  it  before 
—  but  apparently  it's  famous.  If  you  stop  there  try  and 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  161 

find  out  about  a  Mademoiselle  Dobieski,  and  see  her  if 
you  can." 

"Who  is  she?"  Angela  asked.  "The  name  sounds 
dimly  familiar,  as  if  she  were  an  actress  or  a  dancer,  or 
somebody  one  has  heard  of." 

"She  was  a  singer.  She  is  Mr.  Falconer's  romance. 
I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  see  her." 

"I  suppose  you  will,  if  she's  a  friend  of  his,  and  you're 
going  to  Paso  Robles  in  his  private  car." 

"No.  I  won't  be  allowed.  He's  sending  Mrs.  Harland 
and  me  straight  on  to  Del  Monte,  and  then  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. He'll  follow;  and  afterward  he's  going  to  take  us 
to  Shasta,  and  the  McCloud  River,  where  they  say  he  has 
the  most  fascinating  country  house  in  the  world.  I  shall 
probably  have  a  relapse  when  I  see  it." 

"I  remember  now,"  said  Angela.  "There  was  a  Polish 
girl  who  sang  in  concerts,  and  then  made  her  d£but  in 
opera  in  London.  I  never  saw  or  heard  her,  but  people 
used  to  say  she  was  divine.  Then  she  went  back  to  Russia, 
three  or  four  years  ago*  and  seemed  to  vanish  into  space." 

"  She  vanished  into  Siberia,"  replied  Miss  Dene.  "  Mean- 
while, Mr.  Falconer  had  had  time  to  fall  in  love  with  her  in 
London,  just  before  she  took  her  Russian  engagement. 
It  was  his  sister  who  told  me  this  —  perhaps  to  prove  that 
there  was  no  use  my  having  Designs,  with  a  capital  D. 
He  followed  the  girl  to  St.  Petersburg;  she  disappeared. 
He  put  the  matter  into  the  hands  of  a  detective  —  an 
American  one,  brought  over  on  purpose  —  money  no  object. 
Then  Mr.  Falconer  couldn't  stay  any  longer  himself,  on 
account  of  important  interests  on  this  side  —  but  I  be- 
lieve he  flashed  across  once  in  a  while,  during  the  last  four 


162  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

years,  when  lie  was  supposed  to  be  resting  and  seeing 
Europe  with  his  sister.  She  was  always  in  the  secret.  Well 
at  last  they  wormed  out  the  truth:  that  the  Dobieski'd 
been  arrested  as  a  Nihilist,  secretly,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
popularity  on  the  stage  as  a  singer,  sent  to  Siberia.  With 
money,  or  influence,  or  both,  she  was  rescued  from  some 
dreadful  hole,  and  smuggled  to  England.  But  she'd  had 
rheumatic  fever,  and  her  beauty  was  gone  —  she  was  a 
cripple.  Still  the  extraordinary  man  was  faithful  —  though 
he'd  never  even  had  a  chance  to  try  and  make  her 
like  him.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  lover,  out  of  a 
book?" 

"No,"  said  Angela,  interested.     But  something  within 
her  whispered,  "There  might  be  another  such  lover." 

"Specialists  —  Mr.  Falconer  and  his  sister  had  the 
best  —  said  there  was  practically  no  hope  that  the  girl 
would  ever  be  herself  again.  Yet  the  man  wouldn't  give  up. 
He  thought  there  was  no  place  in  the  world  like  Paso 
Robles  for  performing  miracles.  The  doctors  laughed  - 
because  it  was  natural  he  should  believe  in  his  own  country. 
However,  the  Dobieski  consented  to  come.  Mrs.  Harland 
brought  her  over.  Now  she's  been  here  two  months,  and 
is  actually  almost  cured.  Do  try  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her. 
I've  an  evil  idea  that  my  noble  host  is  going  to  drop  off  at 
the  Springs,  after  shedding  us  encumbrances,  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  proposing.  If  I  use  this  for  my  plot,  I  shall 
give  myself  the  satisfaction  of  making  the  story  end  badly." 

"I  dare  say  you'll  enjoy  doing  that,"  Angela  remarked, 
in  her  gentlest  voice. 

"I  really  must  go!"  exclaimed  Theo,  and  threw  her 
cigarette  end  into  Angela's  golden  poppies.     But  she  did 


COUNTRY  OF  MAKE-BELIEVE  163 

not  tell  when  she  went  downstairs,  as  Angela  was  half 
afraid  she  would,  that  Mrs.  May  was  the  Princess  di 
Sereno. 

Her  friends  had  not  left  the  veranda.  Mrs.  Harland 
was  talking  to  some  people  she  knew,  Falconer  walking  up 
and  down  looking  at  the  ships  that  were  still  trying  their 
speed,  in  sight  of  the  hotel. 

"I  do  wonder  if  the  darling  Angela  knows  about  the 
Prince?"  Theo  asked  herself;  and  then  joined  Falconer 
in  his  walk,  not  mentioning  Mrs.  May. 

"So  you've  met  that  handsome  big  boy  before?"  she 
began. 

"Billiard?"  said  Falconer.  "Oh,  yes,  I've  met  him 
at  Mrs.  Gaylor's." 

"  Who's  Mrs.  Gaylor? "  Theo  had  the  curiosity  to  ask. 

Falconer  told  her,  and  described  Mrs.  Gaylor  as  being 
a  beautiful  as  well  as  immensely  rich  young  woman. 

"It  must  be  over  a  year  since  her  husband  died,"  he 
added.  "  'Old  Grizzly  Gaylor'  he  was  called;  a  brute, 
I'm  afraid.  His  taking  off  must  have  been  a  relief  to  her. 
She's  left  with  a  splendid  property.  I've  heard  it  said 
there  may  be  a  match  between  her  and  Hilliard.  He 
used  to  be  foreman  of  her  husband's  ranch;  but  now 
he's  a  landowner  on  his  own  account;  struck  oil,  and  made 
a  pile  of  money  selling  a  gusher  —  the  biggest  and  longest- 
lived  we've  had  yet." 

"Are  they  engaged?  "  inquired  Theo. 

"I  don't  know.  It  isn't  announced,  anyhow.  But  it 
wouldn't  be  a  bad  match,  even  for  a  rich  woman.  Hil- 
liard's  a  fine  fellow,  all  the  finer  because  he's  a  self-made 
man.  By  the  way,  the  Gaylor  place  is  one  of  the  show 


164  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

ranches  of  California.  I  think  we  ought  to  take  you  to  see 
it." 

"Do!"  cried  Miss  Dene.  "I  could  write  about  it, 
couldn't  I?  I'd  like  to  see  Mrs.  Gay  lor.  Another  Cali- 
fornia type  for  my  book!" 

And  again  she  asked  herself,  "I  wonder  if  dear  Angela 
knows  about  the  Prince?  " 


XIII 
FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  DRAMATIC  EFFECT 

SOMEHOW,  Miss  Dene  got  herself  invited  to  spend 
the  afternoon  in  seeing  with  Mrs.  May  and  Hilliard 
all  the  things  which  Falconer  and  his  sister  had  spent  the 
whole  morning  in  showing  her.  Exactly  how  she  did  this 
she  herself  might  have  told  —  with  her  occasional  startling 
frankness  —  if  she  had  chosen.  But  Mrs.  May  could  not. 
Perhaps  Angela  had  invited  her,  or  said  something  which 
could  be  snapped  up  as  an  invitation;  for  Nick  would 
hardly  have  suggested  a,  second  guest  unless  his  first 
guest  expressly  wished  for  one.  In  any  case,  the  fact 
remained  that  Theo  Dene  was  going  in  the  yellow  car  for 
a  spin  round  Santa  Barbara,  to  the  Country  Club,  the 
Hope  Ranch,  and  above  all,  to  the  Mission. 

She  stood  talking  on  the  veranda  to  Falconer  and  Mrs. 
Harland,  as  she  waited  for  Angela  to  come  down,  and  for 
Hilliard  to  bring  round  the  car.  Her  host  and  hostess  were 
laughing  at  her  change  of  plans,  for  she  had  announced, 
early  in  the  day,  that  she  meant  to  "lie  down  all  the 
afternoon  and  rest  her  features." 

"Who  is  the  beautiful  Mrs.  May?"  asked  Falconer. 

Theo  did  not  like  this  way  of  putting  the  question, 
because,  quite  sincerely,  she  herself  admired  no  woman 
who  was  not  of  her  own  type.  She  was  tempted  to  take 

165 


166  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

advantage  of  Angela's  desire  not  to  be  known,  and  say: 
"Oh,  she's  one  of  a  thousand  other  pretty  travelling 
women  with  intermittent  husbands . ' '  This  would  have  been 
epigrammatic,  and  at  the  same  time  it  might  have  quenched 
dawning  interest  in  the  stranger.  Neither  the  brother 
nor  sister  was  of  the  sort  who  favoured  flitting  ladies  with 
vague  male  belongings  kept  in  the  background.  But 
suddenly  a  brilliant  idea  occurred  to  Miss  Dene,  who 
loved  dramatic  effects. 

"Mrs.  May  chooses  to  be  an  ordinary  tourist,"  Theo 
said,  with  just  the  right  air  of  mystery,  "  but  if  she  liked, 
she  could  travel  as  a  personage.  She  has  her  own  reasons 
for  coming  to  America,  just  as  I  have  mine,  though  hers 
are  different.  Don't  you  think  she  ought  to  see  Shasta, 
and  the  McCloud  River,  if  her  impressions  are  to  be  com- 
plete?" 

"Would  she  care  to  go?"  said  Mrs.  Harland.  "John 
and  I  would  be  delighted  to  take  her,  and  put  her  up  for 
a  week-end  —  wouldn't  we,  John?  " 

"Of  course,"  said  Falconer.  "From  what  I  saw  of  her, 
she'd  be  a  charming  guest.  But  poor  Hilliard  — 

"Oh,  do  ask  him,  too,  and  give  me  a  chance  to  flirt 
with  him,  please.  I've  had  such  poor  success  with  you, 
I'm  feeling  crushed.  Do  you  think  Mrs.  Gaylor  too  for- 
midable for  me?" 

"If  I  were  a  betting  man,  I'd  bet  on  you,"  Falconer 
laughed.  "But  I  don't  know  how  far  matters  have  gone 
between  Mrs.  Gaylor  and  Hilliard.  It  may  be  gossip; 
all  the  world  loves  a  lover,  you  know;  and  it's  human 
nature  to  weave  a  romance  around  two  interesting  figures 
placed  toward  each  other  as  these  are." 


THE  SAKE  OF  DRAMATIC  EFFECT       167 

"Well,  I  should  like  to  try  my  hand,  if  his  isn't  pre- 
engaged,"  said  Miss  Dene;  "and  if  it  is,  he  won't  be  wasted 
on  me,  for  I  can  always  use  him  up  in  a  book.  What  fun 
to  have  Mrs.  Gaylor  at  the  same  time!  We  should  soon 
see  if  they  were  engaged  if  we  brought  them  together, 
shouldn't  we?  If  not,  I'd  be  free  to  get  in  as  much  deadly 
work  as  possible." 

"Is Mrs.  May's  husband  living?"  asked  Falconer,  with 
a  twinkle  of  mischief  in  his  usually  grave  eyes. 

"I  think  I  mustn't  tell  even  you  anything  about  her 
private  affairs,"  Miss  Dene  answered  virtuously.  "But 
I've  reason  to  know  that,  for  this  race,  anyhow,  she's  out 
of  the  running.  As  Mrs.  May  was  telling  you  at  luncheon, 
Mr.  Hilliard  is  showing  her  a  few  things  because  the 
mutual  friend  who  was  to  have  done  it,  couldn't.  He  can't 
show  her  Shasta  and  McCloud,  though,  as  you  can;  for 
a  mere  motor's  no  attraction  compared  to  a  private  car. 
I'm  sure  she's  never  been  in  one  as  gorgeous  as  the  kind 
in  America  —  yours  in  particular." 

"Well,  we  must  give  her  the  chance  to  try  it,"  said 
Falconer. 

"And  you  will  think  of  inviting  Mrs.  Gaylor  at  the  same 
time?  "  Theo  turned  her  eyes  from  her  host  to  his  sister, 
beseechingly. 

"I  don't  know  Mrs.  Gaylor  well,"  Mrs.  Harland  de- 
murred. "But  if  John  wants  you  to  see  her  ranch, 
and  takes  us  there,  I  don't  mind  asking  her  to  Rush- 
ing River  Camp  for  a  day  or  two.  It's  not  very  likely 
that  she'd  refuse"  —  the  lady  smiled  —  "as  I'm  afraid 
that  socially  she's  more  or  less  neglected,  in  spite  of  her 
beauty." 


168  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Or  because  of  it,"  said  Falconer.  "And  here  comes 
Mrs.  May." 

A  moment  later  the  car  came  too,  and  Angela  realized 
that  already  she  had  reached  the  stage  when  she  would 
miss  taking  her  place  beside  Hilliard.  She  sat  behind  with 
Miss  Dene,  and  Billy  the  "assistant"  climbed  into  the 
seat  next  the  chauffeur's. 

Theo  availed  herself  of  the  opportunity  to  tell  what  she 
had  heard  about  Nick  and  Mrs.  Gay  lor,  with  embroideries 
of  her  own. 

The  air  was  balm  of  a  thousand  flowers,  but  for  Angela 
it  was  no  longer  "Parfait  d' Amour."  The  two  battleships 
had  long  ago  finished  their  speed  trial;  and  trails  of 
floating  kelp  lay  like  golden  sea-serpents  asleep  under  the 
blue  ripple  of  the  sea.  Everything  was  very  beautiful. 
But  it  was  not  yesterday ! 

In  the  town  with  the  Mission  still  distant,  she  began  to 
feel  the  "foreignness"  of  Santa  Barbara.  The  streets 
had  Spanish  names,  and  the  trees  seemed  musical,  as  she 
had  thought  that  trees  seemed  in  the  South  of  Europe; 
as  if  they  had  heard  and  seen  all  the  happiness  of  history, 
and  had  set  them  to  music  with  their  branches.  Pretty 
girls  rode  bareheaded,  with  sunburned  men  in  sombreros, 
just  outside  the  straggling  town,  between  hedges  of  roses 
that  made  boundaries  for  bungalows. 

The  beauty  of  the  world  sang  a  song  in  Angela's  ears, 
with  the  rushing  breeze  the  motor  made;  the  wind  in  the 
trees,  the  flashing  lights  and  shadows  on  the  mountains. 
Clear-cut,  lovely  peaks  sprang  toward  a  sky  that  was 
like  fire  opal  with  turquoies  glowing  blue  behind  it. 
Still,  this  was  not  yesterday!  The  song  of  the  world's 


THE  SAKE  OF  DRAMATIC  EFFECT       169 

beauty  did  not  seem  meant  personally  for  her,  as  it  had 
then. 

Piles  of  grain  in  the  fields  were  like  plumed,  golden 
helmets,  laid  down  in  rows  to  await  the  heads  of  resting 
warriors.  The  California  oaks,  different  from  all  other 
oaks,  were  classic  in  shape  as  Greek  temples  sacred  to 
forest  deities,  standing  against  a  background  of  indigo 
sea.  But  Miss  Dene  would  talk. 

Theodora,  in  her  books,  made  a  speciality  of  describing 
the  emotional  souls  of  women,  her  favourite  female  ther- 
mometers being  usually  at  freezing  or  boiling  point  —  never 
temperate.  Descriptions  of  scenery  she  "couldn't  do," 
and  what  she  called  "landscape  gazing"  bored  her.  She 
was  more  interested  in  people,  and  big  towns,  than  in  wide 
spaces  where  Nature  tried  to  lecture  her.  But  because 
Angela  admired  the  country  she  admired  it,  too,  more 
audibly  than  Angela. 

They  saved  the  Mission  for  the  last.  Nick  had  set  his 
heart  on  showing  it  to  Mrs.  May  at  sunset.  As  for  Theo, 
though  she  said  so  much,  he  knew  by  instinct  that  it  was 
not  she  who  cared  for  the  beauty  of  the  magnolia  hedges, 
the  hay-gilded  meadows,  and  the  dark  oaks  that  blotted 
the  gold.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  admire  Miss  Dene, 
for  she  was  handsome,  and  put  herself  out  to  be  kind  to 
him;  but  he  wished  the  girl  away,  and  was  glad  that 
to-morrow  she  would  be  travelling  with  her  own  friends. 
When  she  looked  at  him  with  her  greenish  eyes,  she  had 
the  air  of  judging  his  points,  as  if  he  were  a  portrait  she 
thought  of  adding  to  her  collection,  and  of  wishing  him  to 
look  at  her.  Nick  was  not  to  be  fascinated  in  this  way. 

Along  the  Cliff  Drive  they  went  to  the  Hope  Ranch,  and 


170  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Angela  tried  to  think  of  the  brave  old  days  of  the  "Roaring 
Forties,"  of  barbecues,  and  wedding  feasts  for  Spanish 
brides  —  days  when  the  business  of  life  was  to  love,  and 
laugh,  and  dance,  and  spend  the  money  yielded  by  thou- 
sands of  rolling  acres.  According  to  the  stories,  all  women 
had  been  beautiful,  all  men  brave,  and  ready  to  fight  for 
the  ladies  they  loved;  and  though  the  world  had  changed 
since  then,  faster  here  than  elsewhere,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  at  heart  the  men  of  America  had  kept  to  old  tradi- 
tions more  closely  than  men  in  older  countries.  Then 
she  smiled  at  herself  for  this  impression;  for,  after  all, 
what  did  she  know  of  American  men? 

When  they  turned  at  last,  coming  back  toward  the 
Mission,  to  which,  somehow,  all  the  rest  had  been  leading 
up,  the  setting  sun  was  beating  the  dusk  into  sparks  of 
fire. 

At  first  glimpse,  alighting  before  the  steps  of  the  restored 
Mission  church,  Angela  compared  it  unfavourably  in  her 
mind  with  the  lovely  shabbiness  of  San  Gabriel.  She  had 
a  feeling  that  Santa  Barbara  the  pleasure-place  lived  on 
Santa  Barbara  the  Mission,  with  its  history  and  romance. 
But  she  had  only  to  go  inside  to  beg  pardon  of  the  church 
for  her  first  impression.  It  was  easy  to  remember  that 
there  had  never  been  the  same  stress  of  poverty  here  as 
among  the  missionary  Fathers  of  San  Gabriel,  in  the  City 
of  Angela.  Yet  in  this  place,  too,  there  was  the  same 
pathetic  effect  which  had  brought  tears  to  Angela's  eyes 
in  the  dim  little  church  at  San  Gabriel;  an  effect  that 
once  felt  and  understood,  gives  the  old  Spanish  Missions 
their  great,  undying  charm.  At  Santa  Barbara  —  sweet 
name,  ringing  like  the  silver  bells  of  the  Franciscan  Fathers 


"8anta  Barbara  Mission,  with  its  history  and  romance  " 


THE  SAKE  OF  DRAMATIC  EFFECT       171 

—  as  at  San  Gabriel,  there  had  been  the  same  striving  to 
copy  the  noble  designs  and  proportions  of  the  Spanish 
cathedrals,  visioned  in  spirit  by  the  homesick  monks,  who 
knew  well  they  would  never  see  them  with  bodily  eyes 
again.  With  simple  materials  and  unskilled  Indian  work- 
ers, these  exiled  men  had  striven  to  reproduce  in  the  far, 
lonely  West  the  architecture  of  the  East,  loved  and  lost  by 
them  forever.  The  very  simplicity  of  the  church  made  its 
beauty. 

The  scar  of  Santa  Barbara  Mission  had  been  patched 
up,  while  at  San  Gabriel  the  bandages  were  vines  and 
flowers;  but  the  sunset  light  lent  to  the  cloisters  all  the 
stateliness  and  glory  of  some  old  monastery  in  Southern 
Spain;  the  octagonal  fountain  on  the  bare  terrace  dripped 
silver;  and  an  embroidery  of  lichen  had  gilded  the  rose- 
coloured  tiles  of  the  sloping  roof  with  all  shades  and  tints 
of  gold.  The  sun,  bidding  good-bye  to  the  day,  gave  back 
for  an  hour  the  splendour  of  the  past. 

The  three  went  up  into  the  bell  tower  and  looked  down 
upon  the  old  garden  of  the  monks,  then  away  to  the 
sheltering  hills,  with  the  far-off  rampart  of  mountains. 
It  was  beautiful  there,  and  the  bells  in  their  open,  window- 
like  arches,  had  the  kindly  beauty  of  age  and  experience. 
Angela  tapped  them  with  pink  finger-nails,  and  brought 
out  a  faint,  musical  whisper,  which  seemed  to  breathe 
some  secret,  if  only  she  could  understand.  But  she  could 
not!  She  felt  dull  and  unhappy,  she  could  not  tell  why. 
Certainly  it  could  not  be  for  such  a  stupid,  dog-in-the- 
manger  reason  as  because  Nick  Hilliard  was  supposed  to 
be  engaged  to  his  "boss's  widow"  —a  most  suitable 
arrangement.  Perhaps  it  was  the  dreamy  sadness  of  this. 


172  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

place  which  had  taken  hold  of  her.  If  there  were  a  secret 
in  the  musical  whisper  of  the  bells,  it  was  a  secret  of  the 
past;  and  it  was  time  to  come  which  was  clouded  for 
Angela.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing  definite  in  it  for  her 
to  touch.  Her  bodily  eyes  looked  out  over  the  bay  of 
Santa  Barbara,  grape-purple  with  the  wine  of  sunset;  but 
her  spirit  saw  only  the  uncharted  sea  of  the  future,  across 
which  strange  sunrises  glimmered,  and  winds  cried  like 
harps,  or  voices  called  to  her  in  prophecies  she  could  not 
hear.  Happiness  which  she  had  never  known  seemed  to 
live  beyond  that  sea  in  an  island  palace;  but  the  key  of 
the  palace  lay  fathoms  deep,  fallen  among  rocks  under  deep 
water.  When  Angela  had  been  on  her  way  to  California, 
she  had  said  to  herself:  "I  shall  be  happy  there  living 
alone  in  some  place  which  I  shall  find,  because  I  shall  be 
at  peace,  and  disagreeable  things  can  never  come  to  me." 
But  now,  suddenly,  she  felt  that  more  than  peace  was 
needed.  She  wanted  to  be  happy  with  a  happiness  far 
removed  from  peace. 

"I  think  I'll  go  to  the  North  to  live,"  she  decided. 
"  In  all  this  sunshine  and  colour,  one  needs  love  —  or  else 
one's  out  of  the  picture." 

At  a  little  distance  Miss  Dene  was  telling  Nick  Hilliard 
that  she  was  glad  she  had  met  him,  because  he  was  just 
what  she  wanted  for  her  book  about  California. 

"I'm  going  to  see  your  ranch,"  she  said,  "and  Mrs. 
Gaylor's  ranch.  I've  heard  about  it  —  and  her.  She's 
very  handsome,  isn't  she?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Nick. 

"And  a  great  friend  of  yours  —  your  best  friend?  " 

"A   great   friend,"    he   echoed,    wishing    that   Angela, 


holding  herself  remote,  would  let  him  draw  her  into  the 
conversation. 

It  occurred  to  Miss  Dene,  seeing  Nick's  eyes  wander, 
that  perhaps  there  was  something  about  her  which  Cali- 
fornia men  were  not  trained  to  appreciate,  for  she  was 
not  having  her  usual  success.  And  she  had  scarcely  made 
the  sensation  she  had  expected  to  make  in  San  Francisco, 
although  she  had  been  interviewed,  and  one  reporter  had 
said  that  her  hair  was  dyed.  Nevertheless,  if  she  could 
not  have  the  sort  of  fun  she  wanted,  she  would  at  least 
have  what  fun  she  could.  She  was  sure  that  with  Mrs. 
Gaylor,  and  the  Princess  di  Sereno,  and  this  big  unso- 
phisticated young  man,  between  them  life  would  be  inter- 
esting even  for  an  onlooker. 

"I  can  see  Chapter  First,  anyhow,"  she  laughed  to  her- 
self. And  again  she  wondered  if  Angela  "  knew  about  the 
Prince." 

That  night,  while  everybody  drank  coffee  and  talked 
or  played  bridge  in  the  hall,  it  was  suddenly  flooded  with 
a  tidal  wave  of  women.  They  flowed  into  the  hotel  in  a 
compact  stream  of  femininity;  billows  of  stout  elderly 
ladies,  and  dancing  ripples  of  slim  young  girls,  with  here 
and  there  a  side-eddy  of  thin,  middle-aged  spinsterhood. 
Each  female  thing  had  a  "grip,"  and  of  these  possessions 
they  built  the  desk  a  mountain  of  volcanic  formation, 
which  looked  alarmingly  subject  to  eruptions  and  up- 
heavals. Then  they  all  began  to  talk  at  once,  to  each 
other  and  to  such  hotel  officials  as  they  could  overwhelm 
and  swamp. 

"Good  gracious!  what  is  it?"  asked  Miss  Dene  of 
Falconer,  who  was  supposed  to  be  a  human  encyclopaedia 


174  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

of  general  information.  "I  didn't  suppose  there  were  so 
many  women  in  the  world ! " 

"They're  Native  Daughters,  out  for  an  excursion  and 
the  time  of  their  lives,"  said  Falconer. 

"Why  Native?"  Angela  ventured.  "It  sounds  like 
oysters." 

"And  it  means  California.  They  were  all  born  in  this 
State;  and  they  will  now  proceed  to  see  something  of  it 
in  each  other's  company.  To-morrow  morning  they'll 
Mo'  the  Mission  of  Santa  Barbara. " 

"They'll  do  for  it,  if  they  all  try  to  get  in  at  once," 
laughed  Miss  Dene.  "The  place  will  be  simply  crawling 
with  Daughters.  How  lucky  we've  done  our  sightseeing 
to-day!" 

She  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  moderate  her  voice; 
and  one  of  the  new  arrivals,  who  hovered  alone  on  the 
edge  of  the  crowd,  like  a  bubble  of  foam  flung  out  by  the 
surging  wave,  stood  near  enough  to  overhear.  She  turned 
and  threw  a  glance  at  the  group,  in  time  to  catch  en  route 
to  the  back  of  her  dress  a  look  sent  forth  from  the  eyes  of 
Miss  Dene.  It  was  that  look  which  has  no  family  re- 
semblance to  any  other  look,  yet  is  always  the  same  in  the 
eyes  of  the  best  and  the  worst  woman  —  the  look  she  gives 
another  woman's  dress  the  style  and  fit  of  which  fill 
her  with  supreme  disgust. 

The  victim  did  not  take  this  well-known  gaze  with  meek- 
ness. She  was  a  small  person,  thin  as  a  lath,  with  no  at- 
tempt at  complexion,  and  a  way  of  doing  her  hair  which 
alone  would  have  proved  impeccable  virtue  in  the  face 
of  incriminating  circumstantial  evidence.  She  had  neat 
little  features,  and  a  neat  little  figure,  though  "pro- 


THE  SAKE  OF  DRAMATIC  EFFECT       175 

vincial  "  was  written  over  her  in  conspicuous  letters;  and 
the  gray  eyes  which  she  fastened  on  Miss  Dene  looked 
almost  ill  with  gloomy  intelligence.  She  did  not  attempt 
to  "down"  the  beautifully  dressed  young  woman  with 
a  retort,  though  her  expression  betrayed  a  temptation  to 
be  fishwifish.  It  was  evident,  however,  that  she  was  a 
little  lady,  though  she  wore  a  badly  made  frock,  and  her 
hat  sat  like  a  hard,  extraneous  Bath  bun  on  the  top  of  her 
neat  head.  Whether  or  no  she  were  a  Native  Daughter, 
native  good  breeding  fought  with  and  got  the  better  of 
fatigue,  nervousness,  and  irritation.  She  merely  gazed 
fixedly  for  a  long  second  at  Miss  Dene,  as  if  to  say,  "I 
know  my  dress  is  amateurish,  and  yours  is  perfectly 
lovely,  but  I  have  a  heart  and  would  hate  to  hurt  the  feel- 
ings of  anybody,  especially  one  who  couldn't  pay  me  back, 
whereas  your  only  use  for  a  heart  is  to  keep  your  blood  in 
circulation." 

Angela  saw  this  silent  play  of  weapons,  and  all  her 
sympathy  was  with  the  stranger  in  dusty  blue  alpaca. 
She  busied  herself  mentally  in  rearranging  the  little 
woman's  hair,  dressing  her  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  her 
quite  pretty  and  young-looking,  and  had  not  finished  the 
operation  when  a  hotel  clerk  appeared  with  a  paper  in  his 
hand. 

"Your  name,  please,"  he  said  to  the  small,  unaccom- 
panied person. 

"My  name  is  Sara  Wilkins,"  she  replied  in  a  clear 
precise  voice,  which  matched  her  personality;  "but  I  must 
tell  you  that  I  am  not  a  Native  Daughter,  and  have  not 
engaged  a  room.  I  arrived  at  the  same  time  with  the 
others,  and  when  they  are  settled  I  hope  you'll  be  able 


176  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

to  find  me  something;  otherwise  I  hardly  know  what  I 
shall  do,  as  it's  late,  and  I'm  travelling  alone." 

"I'm  afraid  I  can  do  nothing  for  you,  Madam,  if  you 
have  not  engaged,  "  said  the  young  man,  civilly.  "These 
ladies  are  expected,  and  a  great  many  will  be  sleeping 
three  and  four  in  a  room.  I'm  sorry;  but  there  are  other 
hotels  in  the  town." 

"I'm  sorry  too,"  said  the  lady  in  the  dusty  alpaca. 
"I've  wanted  for  years  to  stay  in  this  hotel,  if  it  was  only 
for  a  few  hours,  as  I've  read  so  much  about  it,  and  I 
arranged  to  stop  off  at  Santa  Barbara  on  purpose,  though 
I  really  ought  to  have  gone  on.  And  I'm  so  tired ! " 

Angela  could  bear  no  more.  "Oh,  would  you  take  my 
sitting-room?"  she  asked,  with  the  smile  she  had  in- 
herited with  her  heart  and  a  few  other  things  from  Franklin 
Merriam.  "It  would  be  such  a  shame  to  go  away  when 
you've  wanted  to  stop  here  —  so  late,  too,  and  you 
mightn't  get  in  anywhere  else.  I  shall  be  delighted  — 
really  —  and  I'm  sure  they  can  make  you  up  a  comfort- 
able bed,  for  there's  a  big  lounge  in  the  room." 

Nick  sat  adoring  her  with  his  eyes,  and  Miss  Dene 
believed  that  Mrs.  May  had  made  the  offer  to  please  him 
and  Falconer.  Men  were  very  silly  and  sentimental  about 
such  things.  But  as  she,  Theo,  had  no  sitting-room  of  her 
own  they  could  not  blame  her  for  selfishness. 

Miss  Wilkins  looked  at  Angela  with  her  intelligent  gray 
eyes.  "Why,  that's  very  kind  of  you,"  she  said.  "I 
don't  like  to  take  your  room " 

"But  you  must  like  it,  or  you'll  spoil  my  pleasure," 
Angela  broke  in,  looking  so  charming  in  her  wish  to  make 
the  little  dusty  person  happy  that  few  women  and  no  men 


THE  SAKE  OF  DRAMATIC  EFFECT       177 

could  have  resisted,  or  helped  believing  in  her.  It  was  at 
this  moment  that  Falconer  determined  to  tell  Mrs.  May 
something  about  certain  private  interests  of  his  at  Paso 
Robles,  which  he  had  not  intended  to  mention. 

"Well,  I  will  take  the  room,  then,  and  I  will  like  it, 
too,"  returned  Miss  Wilkins.  "I  don't  know  how  to 
thank  you  enough." 

"I'm  giving  up  nothing  that  I  shall  mind  doing  with- 
out," said  Angela;  and  did  not  dream  that  she  had  stirred 
the  deep  water  under  which  a  golden  key  lay  hid;  the  key 
of  that  island  palace  in  the  uncharted  sea  of  the  future. 


XIV 
THE  MYSTERY  OF  SAN  MIGUEL 

"Do  YOU  think  you  will  go  to  Shasta  in  Mr.  Falconer's 
private  car?  "  Nick  asked  wistfully. 

They  were  flying  along  together  on  the  winds  of  the 
Bright  Angel,  Angela  by  Nick's  side,  on  the  way  to  Paso 
Robles.  It  was  afternoon  of  the  next  day;  Falconer 
and  Mrs.  Harland  and  Theo  Dene  had  left  Santa  Barbara 
in  the  morning;  and  the  sister  and  brother  had  been  so 
pressing  in  their  invitation  that  Angela  had  hardly  known 
how  to  refuse,  though  not  quite  willing  to  accept.  Late 
that  night,  Mrs.  Harland  and  Theo  would  arrive  at  Del 
Monte,  where  Falconer  would  join  them,  and  in  a  day  or 
two  they  would  go  on  to  San  Francisco,  where  Miss  Dene 
had  already  been  visiting.  In  Mrs.  Harland's  maid,  Kate 
had  found  a  friend  from  her  own  part  of  "the  ould 
country,"  who  had  "come  over"  three  years  ago,  and 
who  had  known  Tim.  This  meeting  was  such  a  joy,  that 
Angela  had  fallen  in  with  Mrs.  Harland's  suggestion  that 
Kate  should  go  on  to  Paso  Robles  in  Mr.  Falconer's  car 
McCloud.  Tlie  girl  would  thus  enjoy  her  friend's 
society  for  several  hours,  and  having  arranged  Mrs.  May's 
things  in  the  rooms]already  engaged  at  the  hotel,  would 
await  her  mistress's  arrival  that  evening.  Therefore, 
Angela,  Nick,  and  the  little  chauffeur  had  the  Bright  Angel 

178 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SAN  MIGUEL         179 

to  themselves  for  a  run  of  a  few  hours  through  beautiful 
country,  and  a  visit  to  the  old  Mission  of  San  Miguel  before 
arriving  at  Paso  Robles. 

"Do  I  think  I  shall  go?"  Angela  echoed  the  question 
lazily,  for  she  was  happier  this  morning,  and  basking 
dreamily  in  the  change,  not  troubling  to  wonder  what  had 
brought  it  about.  "  I  hardly  know.  They  were  very  kind 
to  ask  me.  Californian  people  seem  so  warm-hearted  to 
strangers,  and  so  hospitable,  one  can't  help  feeling  one's 
known  them  for  years  instead  of  days.  You  are  like  that 
too  —  otherwise  I  shouldn't  be  here !  And  I've  almost  for- 
gotten to  be  surprised  at  myself  for  —  anything.  I  like 
Mr.  Falconer;  Mrs.  Harland,  too;  but  he  is  what  you 
said  —  splendid.  I  understand  why  you  called  him  typi- 
cally Californian." 

"I'm  glad,"  said  Nick.  And  he  tried  to  be  glad.  But 
he  had  not  been  told  the  romance  of  Mademoiselle  Dobie- 
ski.  Falconer  did  not  guess  that  Angela  or  Theo  Dene 
knew  it,  though  he  proposed  introducing  Mrs.  May  to  a 
"Polish  lady,  staying  at  Paso  Robles."  "Then,  of  course, 
you  will  go  to  Shasta,  and  they'll  take  you  to  their  place  on 
the  McCloud  River.  They  say  Falconer's  house  is  the 
prettiest  place  of  the  sort  in  California.  Mrs.  Gaylor's 
never  been,  but  she  reads  a  lot  about  society  folk  and  their 
doings  in  the  papers.  You'll  sure  have  a  good  time." 

"Why  do  you  say  'you'?    They  invited  you,  too." 

"Yes,  and  that  was  really  kind,"  Nick  said.  "It  isn't 
'kindness'  to  ask  you,  because  'twould  be  an  honour  to 
have  your  visit.  But  they  don't  want  me.  I  was  asked 
only  because  I  happened  to  be  with  you,  and  Mrs.  Har- 
land was  afraid  my  feelings  would  be  hurt  if  I  was  left  out." 


180  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"I'm  sure  you're  mistaken,"  Angela  insisted,  laughing 
within  herself  because  he  had  not  seen  Theo's  manoeuvres. 
"Of  course  they  want  you."  She  could  not  add  what 
was  in  her  mind.  "Anyway,  Miss  Dene  does."  As  for 
Carmen,  Angela  had  no  idea  that  the  invitation  was  to  be 
extended  to  her,  and  the  figure  of  Mrs.  Gay  lor,  who, 
according  to  Theo,  intended  to  marry  Hilliard,  loomed  less 
important  than  after  listening  to  Miss  Dene's  gossip.  Of 
course,  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  him  to  care  for  Mrs. 
Gaylor,  and  if  she  were  really  nice,  to  marry  her  in  the  end. 
Only,  when  a  young  woman  is  in  a  motor-car  with  a  hand- 
some "forest  creature"  who  appears  to  live  only  for  her 
pleasure,  she  does  not  think  much  beyond  the  hour.  For 
that  hour  he  may  be  hers,  and  hers  alone,  though  to- 
morrow they  part;  and  she  shuts  her  eyes  to  anything  so 
far  away,  so  out  of  the  picture,  as  an  "end." 

"I'm  not  Mrs.  Harland's  kind,"  Nick  explained;  "nor 
Falconer's,  though  he's  too  big  a  man  to  care  for  what 
people  call  'social  distinctions.'  They'd  be  kind  to  me  if 
I  went,  and  wouldn't  let  me  feel  any  difference  they  could 
help.  But  there'd  be  a  house-party,  maybe,  and  I  wouldn't 
know  any  one.  I'd  be  'out  of  it.'  I  couldn't  stand  for 
that,  Mrs.  May." 

"You're  sensitive,"  Angela  said. 

"In  some  ways,"  Nick  admitted.  But  he  did  not  admit 
the  truth;  that  he  could  not,  and  would  not,  go  to  Rushing 
River  Camp  because  he  was  jealous  of  Falconer.  To 
Nick  it  seemed  impossible  that  any  man,  free  to  love,  could 
be  five  minutes  in  Angela's  society  without  falling  in  love 
with  her. 

He  had  had  his  moments  of  hope,  but  with  Falconer 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SAN  MIGUEL         181 

for  a  rival  the  handicap  was  too  great.  Not  that  Nick 
meant  to  give  up  the  fight;  but  if  she  went  to  Shasta 
it  would  be  a  knockdown  blow.  John  Falconer  was  high 
enough  for  a  place  in  Mrs.  May's  own  world.  Nick 
despised  jealousy  as  common  and  shameful,  and  had 
always  scorned  men  who  yielded  to  so  mean  a  vice.  Now, 
however,  they  had  his  pity.  He  knew  what  they  suffered, 
and  he  could  not  go  with  Mrs.  May,  in  Falconer's  car. 

Nevertheless  he  beat  down  the  desire  to  dissuade  her 
from  the  trip. 

"You  oughtn't  to  miss  McCloud  River,"  he  forced 
himself  to  say. 

"I'll  see,"  said  Angela.  "It's  nice  not  to  make  up  one's 
mind,  but  just  to  enjoy  the  minute." 

"Are  you  enjoying  the  minute?  " 

"Yes." 

He  was  rewarded.  For  this  minute  was  his.  They  were 
spinning  along  the  coast  road,  between  sea  and  meadow, 
with  the  salt  breeze  in  their  faces.  The  red-gold  earth 
rose  and  fell  in  gracious  curves,  like  the  breasts  of  a  sleep- 
ing Indian  girl,  and  now  and  then  an  azure  inlet  of  the 
sea  lit  up  a  meadow  as  eyes  light  a  face.  In  the  distance, 
mountains  seemed  to  float  like  spirit  guardians  of  hill- 
children;  and  desert  dunes  billowed  through  irrigated 
garden  oases,  like  rivers  of  gold  boiling  up  from  magic 
mines. 

Nick  pointed  out  the  two  little  mountains  named  after 
Louis  the  Bishop,  and  told  Angela  tales  of  the  country,  of 
the  people,  and  of  the  little  towns  with  Spanish  names  and 
faces,  which  gave  her  always  that  haunting  impression  of 
the  Old  World.  Some  of  the  stories  were  her  father's 


182  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

stories,  and  she  liked  Hilliard  the  better  for  knowing 
them. 

They  had  both  forgotten  Miss  Sara  Wilkins,  who  had 
"stopped  off"  at  Santa  Barbara  because  all  her  life  she 
had  wanted  to  see  the  place.  But  just  at  that  moment, 
on  her  way  to  Bakersfield,  she  happened  to  be  thinking  of 
them  both. 

At  last  the  car  plunged  into  a  maze  of  folding  hills,  like 
giant  dunes.  The  motor  road  was  woven  in  twisted  strands 
while  the  railway  overhead  strode  across  the  gaps  between 
height  and  height,  on  a  vast  trestle  that  might  have  been 
built  for  an  army  of  Martians.  Rock-crested  hills  rose 
gray  in  the  sun  above  the  soft  night  of  oak  forests;  and  as 
the  road  ascended,  its  ribbons  were  looped  from  mountain 
to  mountain  like  the  thrown  lasso  of  a  cowboy. 

"Paso  Robles  means  'Pass  of  the  Oaks,'  "  said  Nick, 
as  they  came  into  a  stretch  of  billowing  country  where  im- 
mense trees  shadowed  the  summer  gold  of  meadows. 

"Shall  we  go  first  to  the  Mission  of  San  Miguel?"  Nick 
asked.  "Or  are  you  tired,  and  shall  I  take  you  to  the 
hotel  now?" 

"  I'm  not  tired,"  said  Angela.  She  did  not  want  this  day 
to  end  yet. 

"We'll  hit  the  trail  for  the  Mission,  then,"  said  Nick, 
"and  see  the  sunset,  as  we  did  from  Santa  Barbara." 

"Can  this  be  as  beautiful?"  Angela  asked.  "Surely 
not?" 

"You,  maybe,  won't  think  so,  but  I  know  it  will  be 
more  beautiful  for  me,"  he  answered.  "That  imported 
young  lady,  with  all  those  elegant  fixings,  sort  of  jarred 
with  the  Mission  architecture,  to  my  mind." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SAN  MIGUEL         183 

Angela  hoped  that  her  laugh  was  not  cattish.  "  But  I'm 
imported,  too,"  she  said.  "Shall  I  jar  on  you  at  San 
Miguel?" 

"You're  not  imported!"  Nick  dared  to  contradict  her. 
"Or,  if  you  are,  you're  the  kind  there  oughtn't  to  be  any 
duty  on." 

A  rain  of  sunset  colour  poured  over  mountains,  hills, 
and  meadows  as  Nick  turned  his  car  toward  San  Miguel. 
When  they  came  in  sight  of  the  old  Mission  (built  far  from 
the  Springs  because  of  hostile  Indians),  the  changing  lights 
were  like  an  illuminated  fountain.  At  last,  when  they 
began  to  fade,  Angela  said,  "Let  us  go.  If  we  stay  longer 
we  shan't  remember  this  at  its  best." 

She  would  have  been  surprised  if  she  had  known  what 
happiness  there  was  for  Nick  in  the  word  "we,"  spoken 
as  she  often  spoke  it  now:  "We"  must  do  this;  "We" 
mustn't  forget  that. 

But  it  was  a  blow  when  she  asked  Billy,  the  chauffeur, 
if  he  would  like  to  see  the  Mission.  "Nothing  can  hurt 
the  car,"  she  said;  "and  when  we  come  back  it  will  be  too 
late." 

Nick  was  tempted  to  glare  a  warning  and  suppress  the 
youth's  interest  in  objects  of  historical  value:  but  he 
refrained.  Billy  must  not  get  it  into  his  head  that  there 
was  "anything  going  on."  So  the  chauffeur  was  allowed 
to  follow  Nick  and  Angela  as  they  wandered,  so  it  seemed 
to  him,  sentimentally  about  the  big  Mission  enclosure, 
between  crumbling  adobe  walls  where  the  Franciscan 
Fathers  had  sheltered  cattle  in  nights  of  peace,  and  Indians 
in  nights  of  danger.  Billy  could  not  feel  the  pathos  of  the 
place  —  desolate,  yet  impressive  in  its  simplicity;  but  as 


184  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

he  sauntered  about,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  whistling 
beneath  his  breath,  "I  can't  marry  you!"  his  smart  little 
modern  mind  began  to  work.  The  strategic  value  of  the 
position  appealed  to  him,  and  he  saw  why  "those  old 
Johnnies,"  as  he  irreverently  styled  the  Padres,  had 
planted  the  Mission  here.  "Guess  they  knew  their  busi- 
ness 'most  as  well  as  if  they'd  been  soldiers,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

Billy  found  pleasure  in  picturing  the  massacres  which 

must  have  taken  place,  imagining  the  great  doors  of  the 

"enclosure  opened  hastily  to  let  in  an  escaping  band  of 

'"friendlies";  then  the  bursting  in  of  the  enemy,  and  the 

•death  of  the  Fathers  as  they  tried  to  protect  their  Indian 

•children.     Many  had  died  by  fire  and  tomahawk,  but 

always  others  had  come  to  take  their  place;  and  so  the 

work  had  gone  on  through  time,  even  as  the  bell-signals 

had  gone  on  sounding  from  Mission  to  Mission  along  El 

^Camino  Reale,  the  highway  of  the  Padres. 

"One  Father  lives  here;  a  dear  old  gentleman,"  said 
INick.  "I  met  him  once,  but  he  mayn't  remember  me. 
J'll  knock  at  his  door  to  ask  for  the  key  of  the  church. 
)  Somehow  I  think  you're  going  to  like  it  better  than  the 
church  of  Santa  Barbara.  There's  something  special 
about  this  place,  I  hardly  know  what,  but  you'll  know. 
And  they've  got  some  vestments  they're  proud  of  —  made 
by  Queen  Isabella  the  Catholic  and  her  ladies." 

It  rather  surprised  Angela  to  hear  Nick  speak  of  "Is- 
abella the  Catholic,"  for  this  way  of  naming  the  Queen 
showed  knowledge  of  history;  and  Angela  had  not  yet 
•discovered  that  history  was  Nick's  favourite  reading. 
Indeed,  she  was  only  beginning  to  learn  a  few  things  about 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SAN  MIGUEL         185 

him.  At  first  her  whole  rather  patronizing  idea  of  the 
young  man  had  been  that  he  was  an  "interesting  type," 
a  "picturesque  figure."  Then,  when  she  heard  him  talk 
with  Falconer,  and  Falconer  talk  of  him  and  of  what  he 
had  done,  she  saw  that  Hilliard  was  already  a  man  of 
importance  in  his  State:  that  the  "picturesque  figure" 
was  merely  the  woman's  point  of  view.  She  was  ceasing 
to  patronize  him  mentally  now,  and  almost  every  hour 
he  gave  her  some  surprise. 

At  a  closed  door  in  the  white,  deserted  cloisters,  Hilliard 
knocked,  but  there  was  no  answer.  His  face  clouded,  for 
he  had  set  his  heart  on  showing  Mrs.  May  this  Mission 
church. 

"This  means  we  can't  get  the  key,"  sighed  Angela. 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  he  agreed.  "But  it's  possible  the 
Padre's  showing  some  one  around,  or  having  a  look  at  his 
beloved  vestments." 

They  walked  to  the  church  door  and  found  it  shut; 
but  to  their  surprise  the  big  old-fashioned  key  was  in 
the  lock.  Nick  pushed  the  door  open  and  they  both 
went  in,  followed  by  Billy.  The  Padre  was  not  to  be 
seen.  So  far  as  they  could  tell  in  the  dimness  the  church 
was  empty. 

"Queer!"  exclaimed  Nick.  "I  wonder  what  can  have 
become  of  the  Padre?  It  isn't  like  him  to  leave  his  church 
open  at  this  time  of  the  evening.  It's  late,  and  we'll  have 
to  light  up  before  we  start  on,  although  we've  only  eight 
miles  to  go." 

"  I'm  sorry  he's  not  here,"  Angela  said.  "  I  should  have 
loved  to  see  Queen  Isabella's  vestments." 

"Would  you?     Well,  you  shall,  if  I  have  to  turn  every- 


186  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

thing  in  the  church  upside  down.     They  must  be  some- 
where." 

The  two  wandered  on,  peering  through  the  dusk  at  the 
primitive  paintings  and  decorations,  made  by  Indians 
according  to  designs  of  Spanish  monks. 

"Do  you  suppose  the  vestments  may  be  kept  up  in  that 
gallery?"  Angela  suggested.  "It  looks  a  safe  sort  of 
place  for  treasures.  But  if  they're  there  I'm  afraid  we 
shall  find  them  in  a  locked  box." 

It  was  worth  trying,  and  they  climbed  the  narrow  stairs 
that  led  up  to  a  gallery  curtained  with  twilight.  There 
sure  enough  was  a  box,  and,  like  the  door,  it  was  open,  the 
key  in  the  lock.  Within,  free  to  every  hand,  were  the 
embroideries,  the  great  treasures  of  the  church. 

"Isn't  it  mysterious?"  she  asked,  in  a  half-whisper, 
for  loud  tones  would  make  jarring  notes  in  this  haunt  of 
silence.  "Can  anything  have  happened  to  the  Padre?" 

"Things  don't  happen  these  days,"  Nick  reassured  her. 

But  he  was  not  quite  easy  in  his  mind.  "  It's  too  dark  for 
you  to  see  the  vestments  well.  Shall  I  carry  them  down- 
stairs?" 

" No,"  said  Angela.  "  I'd  rather  look  at  them  here.  It's 
like  staring  at  flowers  hi  the  night.  The  colours  come 
up  to  your  eyes  in  the  most  wonderful  way." 

Seeing  that  she  meant  to  kneel  by  the  open  chest  Nick 
whipped  off  his  coat  to  lay  under  her  knees,  and  she 
laughed  as  she  named  him  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  Hilliard 
and  Billy  stood  behind  her,  Nick  stooping  sometimes  to 
examine  a  stole  or  altar-cloth  she  wished  to  show  him, 
Billy  frankly  bored,  until  a  faint  sound  somewhere  made 
him  prick  up  his  ears. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SAN  MIGUEL         187 

"Maybe  that's  the  Padre  now,"  said  he.  "Shall  I  go 
and  look?"  Then  he  pattered  down  the  steep  stairway 
without  waiting  to  be  answered. 

Angela  and  Nick  forgot  him  for  a  moment,  until  his 
nasal  young  voice  called  excitedly  from  below  the  gallery: 

"Say,  Mr.  Hilliard,  we're  locked  in!" 

"What!"  exclaimed  Nick,  straightening  himself  up 
and  dropping  the  end  of  an  embroidered  stole. 

"Some  fellow's  been  to  the  door  and  locked  it  on  the 
outside." 


XV 
THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK 

IT  WAS  very  dim  in  the  Mission  church.  Angela  had 
not  realized  how  dim  until  she  heard  the  news  announced 
through  Billy's  nose.  They  were  locked  in! 

Somebody  had  been  to  the  door,  somebody  had  locked 
it  on  the  outside,  and  it  was  deep  twilight,  almost  night. 

Suddenly  it  seemed  completely  night.  The  colours  of 
the  old  vestments  still  glowed  in  the  dusk,  like  smoulder- 
ing coals  in  a  dying  fire;  but  that  was  because  of  the 
rich  tints,  and  because  the  eyes  gazing  at  them  were  accus- 
tomed to  darkness.  Looking  up  at  Nick  to  see  what  his 
silence  meant,  and  whether  he  were  nonplussed  or  merely 
deciding  on  a  plan  of  action,  Angela  could  hardly  make 
out  his  features.  She  could  see  clearly  only  his  eyes, 
.luminous  and  gray. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  asked.  Her  voice  sounded 
•appealing,  like  that  of  a  child. 

"Don't  worry,  Mrs.  May,"  said  Nick,  with  sudden 
cheerfulness.  "  We'll  get  out  all  right.  I  was  just  study- 
ing what  must  have  happened.  That's  why  I  was  so  mum. 
I  reckon  the  Padre  must  have  been  away  —  though  why 
he  left  the  key  in  the  door  beats  me  —  and  coming  back  he 
locked  up  for  the  night.  Unless  he  went  around  in  the 
'direction  of  the  auto  he  wouldn't  have  seen  it.  If  he 

188 


THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK 

looked  in  here,  of  course  he'd  have  thought  the  church 
empty,  we  being  in  the  gallery.  And  it's  late  in  the  day 
now,  so  late  he  wouldn't  expect  visitors." 

"It's  so  'late  in  the  day'  that  it's  night!"  cried  Angela. 
"Another  reason  for  his  not  seeing  the  motor." 

"Not  quite  night  yet!  And  I'm  going  down  to  make 
all  the  noise  I  can  at  the  door,  assisted  by  Billy.  There'll 
be  such  a  din,  between  the  two  of  us,  you'll  want  to  stop 
your  ears,  and  as  for  the  Padre,  he'll  come  trotting  as  fast 
as  his  legs  will  carry  him,  to  stop  the  row."  Nick  laughed 
so  jovially  that  Angela  began  to  be  seriously  concerned. 
If  it  were  necessary  to  assume  such  gaiety  he  must  regard 
the  situation  as  desperate.  She  remembered  how  far 
away  was  the  sole  occupied  room  among  the  many  empty, 
echoing  cells. 

Nick  helped  her  down  the  steep  stairway,  and  the 
touch  of  his  hand  upon  her  arm  was  comforting.  It  was- 
cold  in  the  darkening  church,  and  she  felt  the  chill  more 
in  imagination  than  in  body;  yet  she  shivered. 

"\Yhat  if  we  have  to  stay  here  all  night?"  she  thought.. 
But  she  kept  the  thought  to  herself. 

Nick  and  Billy  took  turns  in  pounding  on  the  door,, 
shouting,  "Hi,  Padre!"  then  doing  it  together;  but 
the  separate  and  combined  noises,  ear-splitting  inside 
the  church,  produced  no  result.  The  dreamy  silence 
was  shattered  in  vain,  and  at  last,  when  the  two  re- 
fused to  be  discouraged  by  lack  of  success,  Angela  stopped 
them. 

"It's  no  use,"  she  said.  "He  isn't  going  to  hear.  And 
I  shall  have  hysterics  or  something  idiotic  if  you  keep  on 
for  one  more  minute." 


190  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"I  was  thinking  of  trying  another  way,"  said  Nick, 
still  painfully  cheerful. 

"What  other  way?  —  since  even  Samson  couldn't  bat- 
ter down  the  door." 

"A  lot  simpler  than  battering.     Climb  out  of  a  window." 

"Too  high,"  said  Angela. 

"No.  I  can  manage  all  right.  I'll  get  out,  find  the 
Padre,  and " 

"And  leave  me  here  in  the  dark?     No ! " 

"But  there'll  be  Billy." 

"Let  Billy  go,"  Angela  half  whispered,  "and  you  stay 
with  me.  Supposing  you  went,  and  the  Padre  wasn't 
there,  and  —  and  you  weren't  able  to  get  back.  Oh,  I 
couldn't  bear  that!" 

Never  had  Nick  known  so  exquisite  a  moment.  He 
was  sorry  this  queer,  mysterious  accident  had  happened, 
because  it  seemed  to  reflect  somehow  on  his  intelligence 
and  foresight  as  a  guide.  And  he  hated  to  have  Angela 
distressed.  But  - —  after  his  strivings  with  jealousy,  and 
his  defeat  —  it  was  balm  that  she  should  depend  upon  him, 
and  want  him  with  her  in  this  adventure. 

"I  thought,  if  worst  came  to  worst,  I  might  find  a  ladder 
outside,"  he  said,  fearful  of  betraying  his  illicit  happiness. 

"Billy  can  find  a  ladder,  if  there  is  one,"  Angela  per- 
sisted. "There's  the  most  weird,  rustling  sound,  which 
comes  every  once  in  a  while,  and  I  can't  possibly  stand  it 
with  only  Billy." 

Nick  could  hardly  speak  for  joy,  but  he  managed  to 
reply,  "All  right;  Billy  shall  be  the  man  to  go." 

The  going  was  easier  to  propose  than  to  carry  out: 
for  in  bygone  days,  when  the  Padres  of  Old  Spain  were 


THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK          191 

building  New  Spain,  Mission  churches  had  to  protect 
their  flocks  against  the  devil  incarnate  as  well  as  excarnate. 
Windows  were  made  few  and  high;  and  now,  when  the 
brave  builders  sleep,  it  is  nobody's  business  to  worry  about 
the  free  passage  of  air.  Such  windows  as  San  Miguel 
possesses  were  hermetically  closed  that  night  when  Angela 
di  Sereno  and  Nick  Hilliard  were  imprisoned;  and  Billy, 
standing  on  Nick's  shoulders,  had  to  work  a  few  tedious 
moments  before  he  could  induce  one  of  these  windows  to 
open.  By  the  time  the  wiry,  slim  figure  was  ready  to 
straddle  the  window-sill,  slip  out,  dangling,  and  drop  on 
the  grass,  night  had  closed  in,  fragrant  and  purple  in  the 
open,  heavy  and  black  in  the  church. 

Angela  came  and  stood  close  to  Nick.  She  had  never 
been  a  timid  girl;  but  since  the  night  when  she  had  lain 
watching  a  thief  who  slowly,  slowly  raised  her  window, 
twelve  storeys  above  the  ground,  foolish  and  hitherto  un- 
known terrors  crept  through  her  veins  if  she  happened  to 
wake  in  the  dark.  And  now  there  certainly  was  a  rustling 
which  stirred  the  silence,  then  died,  as  if  it  had  never  been. 

"  Don't  go  away  from  me,"  she  said.  "  It's  so  dark  that 
if  we're  separated  we  may  be  ages  finding  each  other." 

This  sounded  like  an  allegory ! 

"No,  we  mustn't  be  separated,"  Nick  answered,  struck 
by  her  words,  as  if  by  a  prophecy.  Then  he,  too,  heard 
the  rustling  —  faint,  winged,  and  mysterious. 

They  stood  still  and  close  together,  listening.  There 
was  no  sound  from  outside  —  not  a  call  for  the  Padre,  not 
a  reassuring  shout  that  Billy  had  succeeded  in  finding  him. 

Angela  groped  with  her  hand,  and,  by  accident,  touched 
Nick's.  To  save  his  soul  he  could  not  have  resisted  press- 


192  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

ing  the  small  cold  fingers!  Wonderful!  She  did  not 
snatch  them  away!  Often  they  had  shaken  hands,  or 
Nick  had  taken  hers  to  help  her  in  or  out  of  the  motor-car; 
but  there  had  been  nothing  like  this.  He  felt  the  thrill  of 
the  touch  go  through  him  as  though  electric  wires  flashed 
a  message  to  his  heart.  He  was  afraid  of  himself  —  afraid 
he  should  kiss  her  hand,  or  stammer  out  "I  love  you!" 
And  that  would  be  fatal,  for  she  would  never  trust  herself 
to  him  again.  Besides,  it  would  not  be  fair.  She  was  like 
a  child  asking  his  protection,  here  in  the  dark,  and  he  must 
treat  her  as  a  man  treats  a  child  who  has  come  to  him 
because  it  is  afraid.  But  he  could  not  think  of  her  as  a 
child.  He  thought  of  the  night  in  New  York  when  she 
had  knocked  on  his  door,  and  called  to  him,  a  stranger,  for 
help.  He  thought  how  he  had  seen  her,  drowned  in  the 
waves  of  her  hair,  like  the  angel  of  his  dreams. 

"Do  you  hear  that?"  she  whispered,  letting  him  keep 
her  hand,  even  clasping  his  with  her  fingers.  "There's 
something  alive  in  this  church,  something  besides  our- 
selves." 

Nick  felt  giddy.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  keep  himself 
from  catching  her  in  his  arms,  no  matter  what  might  be  the 
consequences,  no  matter  how  she  might  hate  him  a  moment 
afterward.  But  he  resisted,  and  the  strain  of  temptation 
passed. 

"A  bird  has  got  in,  perhaps,"  he  said. 

"You  —  you  —  don't  think  it  could  be  the  Padre  himself 
'ill,  or  —  or " 

Nick  understood  her  hesitation  and  fear. 

"No,"  he  soothed  her.  "We'd  have  seen  any  but  some 
small  thing.  I've  got  two  or  three  matches  in  my  box,  I 


THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK          193 

guess.  We'll  have  a  look  around."  This  was  supreme  self- 
sacrifice  on  his  part,  for  to  find  matches  and  "look  around" 
meant  letting  Angela's  hand  go.  To  let  it  go  was  tempting 
Providence,  since  almost  certainly  she  would  never,  of  her 
own  accord,  slip  it  into  his  again. 

"Yes,  do  let  us,"  she  said,  and  drew  the  hand  away. 
Nick  supposed  she  had  hardly  been  conscious  that  he  had 
held  her  fingers  in  his,  and  even  pressed  them.  But  this 
was  not  the  fact.  True,  Angela  had  mechanically  groped 
for  a  protecting  touch.  Nevertheless,  she  was  aware  of 
Nick's  hand  on  hers,  and  glad  of  it,  with  a  gladness  made 
up  of  several  conflicting  feelings:  such  as  surprise,  some 
slight  shame,  and  defiance  of  that  shame.  She  was  afraid 
of  the  rustling  in  the  dark,  which  might  mean  a  lurking 
thief,  a  man  half  murdered,  or  one  of  a  dozen  things  each 
more  unpleasant  than  the  other.  Yet  she  half  liked  being 
afraid  in  the  dark,  with  Nick  Hilliard  to  reassure  her, 
though  she  would  have  hated  it  with  Billy.  No  unknown 
horror  she  could  conjure  up  would  have  made  her  want 
to  touch  Billy.  She  was  almost  sorry  when  Nick  found 
his  matches  and  together  they  began  moving  about  the 
church,  she  keeping  a  little  behind. 

The  last  match  but  one  lit  up  something  white  that 
stirred  beside  the  altar;  and  as  the  flame  died  down,  leav- 
ing only  a  red  glowing  point,  a  pair  of  eyes  like  two  points 
of  fire  stared  up  from  the  floor. 

"Oh!"  murmured  Angela,  and  clutched  Nick's  coat 
sleeve,  like  a  girl  of  early  Victorian  days.  But,  after  all, 
women  have  not  changed  in  essentials.  They  are  much 
the  same  now  in  the  dark,  when  pale  things  stir  or  shine 
unexpectedly;  and  they  are  still  glad  to  have  with  them 


194  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

at  such  times  a  man,  preferably  a  handsome  man,  they 
happen  to  like  better  than  any  other. 

"Great  Scot,  it's  an  owl!"  said  Nick,  profiting  by  the 
last  match  of  all.  It  was,  or  appeared  to  be,  a  white  owl; 
and  it  seemed  to  him  for  a  second  or  two  as  ft  the  witch- 
bird  of  the  Grapevine  man  at  Los  Angeles  had  come  to 
give  the  advice  it  had  refused.  But  this  was  a  childish 
idea,  he  knew !  The  owl  was  a  plain,  ordinary  owl,  which 
no  doubt  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  of  San  Miguel,  and 
had  flopped  in,  perhaps  in  search  of  the  proverbial  church 
mouse.  It  was  afraid  of  the  other  intruders,  and  afraid 
of  the  match,  so  afraid  that  it  flapped  its  wings  and  hooted 
dismally.  It  hooted  three  times,  which,  if  it  had  been  the 
witch  fortune-teller,  might  really  have  meant  something, 
though  there  was  no  time  just  then  to  think  what.  Nick 
was  somewhat  alarmed  lest,  in  its  anger  and  fear,  it  should 
dash  at  Angela's  face,  but  she  would  not  let  him  strike 
the  creature  with  his  hat. 

"No,  poor  thing,  it's  worse  off  than  we  are,  because  it's 
alone,  and  we're  together,"  she  said.  "We'll  go,  and 
leave  it  in  peace  now  we  know  what  it  is."  And  she  kept 
beside  Nick  in  the  dark  by  holding  daintily  to  his  coat 
sleeve. 

He  found  the  steps  of  the  gallery,  and  made  her  sit 
down  on  the  lower  one,  rolling  up  for  a  cushion  his  coat, 
on  which  she  had  knelt  as  she  looked  at  the  vestments. 
It  began  to  seem  odd  that  Billy  had  not  come  back,  but 
it  was  difficult  for  Nick  to  regret  the  delay  as  much  as  he 
ought,  for  Angela's  sake,  to  have  regretted  it. 

When  she  shivered  and  confessed  that  she  was  cold, 
Nick  fetched  her  a  priest's  coat  from  the  gallery,  a  rare 


THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK          195 

piece  of  brocade,  embroidered  perhaps  by  queen's  fingers, 
and  smelling  of  incense. 

"What  can  have  happened  to  Billy?"  Angela  wondered. 
"It's  the  strangest  thing  that  he  doesn't  come  back.  I 
begin  to  be  frightened  about  him." 

Nick  reassured  her  once  more.  Things  often  seemed 
queer  that  were  simple  when  explained,  as  doubtless  this 

would  be.  "I  suppose  you'd  not  like  me  to  go "  he 

began,  only  to  be  cut  short  before  he  could  finish  his 
sentence. 

"No —  if  you  mean,  would  I  like  you  to  go  and  look. 
While  you're  here " 

"Yes,  Mrs.  May?" 

"Why,  of  course,  nothing  matters  so  much.  And  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  stand  where  I  can't  see  you.  Do  sit 
down  on  this  step  by  me." 

So  Nick  sat  down  on  the  step,  and  her  shoulder  touched 
his  arm.  They  talked  in  low  voices,  he  telling  her  things 
to  "keep  her  mind  off"  the  situation:  things  about  the 
Mission  and  other  Missions.  Then  the  conversation 
turned  to  Nick's  ranch  and  the  oil  gusher  which  had  given 
him  fortune  out  of  threatening  ruin;  and  he  described 
the  queer  little  oil  city  which  had  grown  up  on  his  land. 

"I  should  like  to  see  it,"  Angela  said,  when  he  had 
pictured  Lucky  Star  City  and  ranch  in  a  simple  way, 
which  was  nevertheless  curiously  graphic. 

He  caught  up  her  words  eagerly.  "Would  you  let  me 
take  you  there?"  he  begged.  "Mrs.  Gaylor'd  invite  you 
to  stay  at  her  house.  You  know  I've  told  you  about  that, 
and  how " 

"Yes,  I  know."     Angela  could  hardly  have  explained 


196  THE  TORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

why,  but  somehow  she  did  not  want  to  hear  Mrs.  Gay  lor 
talked  of  just  then.  She  was  no  longer  indifferent  to  the 
idea  of  seeing  Nick's  home,  and  the  woman  who  had 
helped  him  to  make  it,  yet  she  was  not  sure  that  she 
wished  to  go  there.  Certainly  she  did  not  wish  to  visit 
Mrs.  Gaylor.  But  —  she  would  like  to  know  whether  the 
mistress  of  the  Gaylor  ranch  was  really  so  very  beautiful. 

"  What  we  must  think  about  now,  is  how  to  get  out  of 
this  church,"  she  went  on,  laughing  faintly  in  the  dark. 
"It  seems  as  if  we  might  have  to  stay  here  all  the  rest  of 
our  lives." 

"Are  you  hungry?"  Nick  inquired. 

"A  little." 

In  his  enraged  disgust  at  not  being  able  to  procure  a 
meal,  Nick  would  gladly  have  killed  and  cooked  the  owl. 

"Are  you?"  Angela  asked. 

"Ami  — what?" 

"Hungry." 

"  Good  heavens,  no ! " 

Tune  passed  vaguely,  as  time  does  pass  in  the  dark, 
when  there  are  no  means  of  counting  the  minutes.  They 
could  hear  their  watches  ticking,  if  they  listened,  but  they 
never  listened  long  enough  to  know  how  the  seconds  went 
by.  And  all  the  matches  were  gone. 

"It's  like  being  lost  in  a  cave,  or  a  mine,  or  the  cata- 
combs," Angela  reflected  aloud,  "  with  your  only  candle 
burnt  out.  You  can't  tell  whether  it's  minutes  or  hours." 

"It  must  be  mighty  tedious  for  you,  I'm  afraid;  though 
Billy's  sure  to  come  back  soon,"  said  Nick. 

"No,  somehow  it  isn't  tedious,"  she  answered  as  if 
puzzled.  "  I  suppose  I'm  rather  excited.  And  you ' 


THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK          197 

"Well,  I  suppose  I'm  rather  excited,  too,"  said  Nick,  in 
his  low,  quiet  voice,  that  did  not  betray  what  he  felt. 
Angela's  voice  told  more  of  what  went  on  in  her  soul.  It 
was,  as  Nick  often  thought,  a  voice  of  lights  and  shadows. 

At  last  —  what  time  it  might  be  they  could  not  tell  — 
there  came  a  sound  of  a  key  turning  in  a  lock.  The  door 
opened,  and  a  yellow  ray  from  a  lantern  streamed  into 
the  church,  making  the  owl  in  its  corner  flutter  wildly. 
Billy's  face  showed  in  a  frame  of  dull  gold,  as  he  peered 
about,  blinking. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  Angela  knew  that  Nick  had 
been  angry  with  the  chauffeur.  There  was  something  in 
his  tone  as  he  said,  "Well!  So  you  have  come!"  which 
suggested  that,  if  she  had  not  been  there,  the  "forest 
creature"  might  have  added  some  strong  and  primitive 
language. 

"Couldn't  help  it,  Mr.  Hilliard.  I  done  the  best  I 
could,"  Billy  explained  hastily.  "WTien  I  got  out  there, 
I  was  up  against  a  tough  proposition,  and  I  guess  it  would 
have  been  tougher  yet  if  I'd  stopped  to  do  much  think- 
ing." 

"I  don't  know  what  your  proposition  was.  But  seems 
to  me  if  it  had  been  mine  I'd  have  found  time  to  yell:  'All 
right  —  coming  as  soon  as  I  can ! '  as  I  passed  the  open 
window,"  Nick  remarked  dryly.  "Mrs.  May'll  think 
we're  a  nice  lot." 

But  Billy  broke  into  a  flood  of  explanations,  too  proud 
to  excuse  himself  to  Hilliard,  after  being,  as  he  thought, 
unjustly  reproached,  yet  willing  to  justify  himself  in  the 
eyes  of  the  lady. 

He  had  dropped  from  the  window,  he  said,  just  in  time 


198  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

to  see  a  dim  figure,  which  looked  like  that  of  a  Padre,  dis- 
appearing in  the  distance.  He  had  started  instantly  in 
pursuit.  If  he  had  waited  to  call  out  under  the  window 
the  figure  would  have  disappeared,  and  he  might  not  have 
found  it  again.  As  it  was  the  old  man  had  gone  so  far, 
and  was  going  so  fast,  that  it  had  taken  some  time  to 
catch  up.  He  —  Billy  —  had  yelled.  The  Padre  —  for 
the  Padre  it  was  —  had  eventually  stopped.  Then  had 
followed  explanations  why  the  key  was  in  the  church  door, 
and  the  door  open;  why  the  door  was  afterward  locked, 
and  why  the  Padre  was  hurrying  away  from  the  Mission, 
late  in  the  evening,  with  the  key  in  his  pocket.  And  all 
these  explanations  were  simple  enough,  simpler  than 
Billy's  own. 

In  the  first  place  a  gentleman  in  the  hotel  at  Paso 
Robles  —  one  who  came  often  to  the  Mission  of  San  Miguel, 
and  was  a  most  important  person  —  had  sent  a  message 
asking  that  the  church  might  be  opened  for  him  in  the 
afternoon.  He  wished  to  drive  out,  and  bring  a  lady  to 
see  the  Mission.  The  Padre,  obliged  to  spend  the  after- 
noon at  the  bedside  of  a  man  dying  at  a  distant  farm- 
house, stuck  the  key  in  the  church  door,  with  a  note 
attached,  asking  the  lady  and  gentleman  to  lock  the  door 
when  ready  to  go  away,  and  hide  the  key  under  a  big 
stone  which  the  letter  indicated.  The  vestments  and  altar 
cloths,  the  great  treasures  of  the  church,  had  been  pur- 
posely left  in  an  open  box,  that  they  might  be  inspected 
by  the  visitors,  and  the  Padre  had  departed  with  a  grow- 
ing uneasiness  in  his  mind,  lest  the  instructions  should  be 
neglected.  So  strong  was  his  presentiment,  "though  the 
gentleman  was  not  one  to  forget,"  that  he  felt  compelled 


THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK          199 

to  leave  the  sick  man  before  nightfall,  and  hurry  off  to  the 
church  to  see  if  his  fears  were  justified.  He  promised, 
however,  to  return  to  the  bedside  immediately;  and 
luckily  meeting  the  gentleman,  heard  a  confession  that 
indeed  the  key  had  been  forgotten.  Only  a  short  time 
had  passed  since  the  church  was  left  empty,  therefore  the 
Padre  had  no  further  fear  for  the  safety  of  the  vestments. 
He  hurried  on,  missed  seeing  the  motor,  found  the  key  in 
the  church  door  as  he  expected,  gave  it  a  quick  turn  in  the 
lock,  took  it  out,  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  long  gown,  and 
started  back  to  the  farm  as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him. 

"Well,  wouldn't  he  give  you  the  key?"  Nick  asked, 
when  the  story  had  reached  this  point. 

"Yes.  He  gave  it  to  me.  But  it  was  pretty  dark  by 
that  time,  and  a  good  long  way  from  the  Mission.  I  lost 
myself,  and  thought  I  was  never  going  to  get  here,"  Billy 
admitted.  "I  guess  I  must  have  wandered  all  round 
Robin  Hood's  Barn,  when,  just  as  I  was  ready  to  give  up 
boat,  the  stars  come  out  through  a  lot  of  clouds,  and 
showed  me  the  roof  of  the  church.  I  steered  by  that,  and 
here  I  am." 

"I  think  we  must  be  grateful,  and  not  scold  him,"  said 
Angela. 

"I  did  my  best,  anyhow,"  Billy  persisted,  "and  I 
brought  this  lantern  out  of  the  auto.  The  worst  is,  I  don't 
know  how  her  lights  '11  work,  for  thinkin'  to  be  at  the  hotel 
before  dark,  I  didn't  bring  no  water." 

Nick  stifled  a  word  or  two  he  would  have  liked  to  say, 
reflecting  that  perhaps  he  was  as  much  as  to  blame  as  Billy. 
He  ought  to  have  left  nothing  to  chance  where  Angela's 
comfort  and  safety  were  concerned. 


200  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

They  got  water,  though  finding  it  meant  further  delay, 
and  after  all,  the  acetylene  lamps  obstinately  refused  to 
shine.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had  been  used  since 
Nick  bought  the  car,  and  he  abused  himself  roundly  for 
not  having  tested  their  temper.  Something  was  wrong, 
something  which  neither  his  knowledge  nor  Billy's  could 
set  right;  and  after  tinkering  for  half  an  hour,  they 
started  with  no  other  light  than  that  of  the  lantern  which 
Billy  proposed  to  hold  while  Hilliard  drove. 

By  this  time  Angela  was  thankful  for  the  cloak  she  had 
left  in  the  car.  It  was  nearly  twelve;  and  the  eight  miles 
which  the  Bright  Angel  would  gaily  have  gobbled  up  in 
the  same  number  of  minutes  had  she  been  able  to  use  her 
eyes,  took  an  hour  to  negotiate.  Like  a  wounded  lioness 
the  car  crawled  along  the  dark  road,  illumined  only  by  a 
fitful  spot  of  yellow  light;  and  a  deep-toned  clock  some- 
where was  striking  one  as  she  drew  up  before  the  door  of 
the  hotel. 

Most  of  the  windows  had  gone  to  sleep,  but  a  few  near 
the  front  entrance  were  twinkling  wakef ully,  and  the  door 
flew  open  in  response  to  the  call  of  the  motor.  A  servant  of 
the  hotel  came  out,  but  behind  the  liveried  man  appeared 
the  tall  figure  of  John  Falconer,  with  a  woman  at  his 
side. 

"We've  been  anxious  about  you,"  Falconer  said,  coming 
forward. 

That  "we"  was  suggestive;  and  Angela's  fancy  sprang 
to  a  happy  ending  for  the  marred  romance.  As  she  entered 
the  hall,  dazzled  by  the  lights,  her  first  glance  was  for  the 
woman  who  stood  beside  Falconer,  smiling  though  a  little 
shy.  It  did  not  need  Falconer's  introduction  to  tell  that 


THE  WISE  BIRD  IN  THE  DARK          201 

this  was  Mademoiselle  Dobieski;  and  if  the  singer  had 
lost  her  youth  in  Siberia,  Paso  Robles,  or  the  magic 
medicine  of  love,  had  given  it  back.  Her  pale  face,  lit 
by  immense  dark  eyes,  was  radiant,  and  though  she 
leaned  lightly  on  a  stick,  it  seemed  that  this  was  a 
mere  concession  to  a  doctor's  order,  or  a  habit  not  quite 
forgotten. 

"This  is  the  lady  I  told  you  of,"  Falconer  said  to  Angela, 
when  he  had  heard  the  story  of  the  adventure.  "I  told 
her  about  you,  too,  and  she  would  sit  up  to  see  you.  So 
would  your  maid,  of  course,  who  has  been  in  a  great  state 
of  anxiety  —  and  even  the  cat  was  depressed.  Mademoi- 
selle Dobieski  has  been  trying  to  console  your  poor  Irish 
girl." 

"I  could  not  bear  her  to  be  unhappy,"  said  the  singer, 
in  a  voice  of  a  curiously  thrilling  quality.  "  I  am  so  happy 
myself !  This  is  the  best  day  of  my  life.  I  don't  want  it 
to  end." 

"The  doctor  has  told  her  she  will  be  cured,"  Falconer 
explained.  "  You  can  guess  whether  it  has  been  a  happy 
day  for  me!  And  she  has  promised  to  be  my  wife.  It 
was  in  the  Mission  church  of  San  Miguel,  bless  him ! " 

"Then  it  was  you  who  forgot  the  key  in  the  church, 
door!"  exclaimed  Angela.  "I  felt  it  was,  somehow. 
And  no  wonder  you  forgot!"  She  threw  a  smiling  glance 
at  Nick. 

Nick  said  nothing,  but  he  too  blessed  San  Miguel.  He 
knew  nothing  about  the  bodily  ailments  which  brought 
people  to  sulphur  springs,  but  he  thought  that  no  torture 
of  the  body  could  be  worse  than  jealousy;  and  of  that 
pain  San  Miguel  had  in  a  moment  cured  him. 


202  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

He  blessed  also  the  owl  which  had  rustled  and  made 
Angela  want  him  near  her. 

"I  believe  I'll  catch  it,  and  have  it  tamed  at  my  place," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  I'll  give  it  a  good  time  all  the  rest  of 
its  life." 

And  next  morning  early,  while  Angela  slept,  he  motored 
out  again  to  the  Mission,  found  the  Padre,  caught  the  owl 
which  was  young  and  dazed,  brought  it  to  the  hotel,  and 
hired  a  boy  to  take  it  by  train  to  Bakersfield. 


XV 
ANGELA  AT  HER  WORST 

BUT  something  had  happened  to  Angela  next  day. 
That  was  clear,  from  her  manner.  What  had  changed 
her  from  a  clinging,  sweetly  mid- Victorian  girl  into  a 
reserved,  coldly  polite  woman,  Nick  could  not  imagine. 
Her  cool  "Good  morning"  gave  the  first  sign  of  a  fallen 
temperature.  His  way  of  beginning  the  day  was  suited  to 
the  ending  of  yesterday :  hers  denied  all  that  made  yester- 
day memorable.  Could  it  be  that  in  recalling  the  scene 
in  the  Mission  church,  Mrs.  May  disapproved  of  something 
he  had  said,  or  some  blundering  act,  and  wished  to  "put 
him  in  his  place"?  Or  —  still  more  terrible  —  was  she 
unhappy  about  Falconer?  Nick  was  confused,  miserable, 
and  because  he  did  not  know  how  to  take  her,  or  con- 
sequently how  to  bear  himself,  he  became  self-conscious 
and  awkward. 

Angela  did  not  refuse  to  go  to  Santa  Ysabel  and  the 
mysterious  warm  lake,  but  she  said  that  she  would  sit 
behind  as  her  head  ached  a  little,  and  she  would  feel  the 

wind  less  than  on  the  front  seat.     Nick  knew,  somehow, 

• 

that  she  did  not  wish  to  talk  to  him.  Yet  there  was 
nothing  definite  in  her  manner,  of  which  he  could  take 
hold  and  say,  "Have  I  offended  you?" 

"Perhaps  it's  only  that  she's  tired,  and  didn't  sleep 

203 


204  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

well,"  Nick  tried  to  persuade  himself,  because,  in  reason, 
he  did  not  see  what  else  it  could  be.  "As  like  as  not, 
she'll  be  different  to-morrow." 

But  there  was  to  be  no  to-morrow. 

The  blow  did  not  fall  until  he  had  brought  her  back  to 
the  hotel.  Then,  before  Nick  could  propose  a  new  plan, 
she  said  quickly,  in  the  presence  of  Falconer,  who  had 
strolled  out  to  meet  the  Bright  Angel,  "Oh,  Mr.  Hilliard, 
I  think  you'll  be  glad  to  hear  you  are  going  to  be  relieved 
of  all  this  bother  I've  been  making  you.  I'm  engaged  to 
play  chaperon  for  a  few  days.  If  /  will  go  to  Monterey, 
Mademoiselle  Dobieski  will  go,  and  of  course  that  will  be 
a  great,  great  pleasure  to  Mr.  Falconer.  You  know, 
don't  you,  that  our  plans  were  never  made  for  a  day  ahead? 
She  and  I  will  travel  in  the  wonderful  private  car,  and  meet 
Mrs.  Harland  at  the  other  end  of  the  journey.  I  know 
Mr.  Falconer  means  to  ask  you  too,  so  we  shan't  be  saying 
good-bye,  or  even  au  revoir,  if  you  accept.  His  idea  is  for 
you  to  let  your  chauffeur  drive  the  Bright  Angel,  and  meet 
you  where  you  like.  But  he'll  tell  you  all  about  that,  of 
course.  We  arranged  this  at  breakfast,  which  Mademoi- 
selle Dobieski  had  with  me,  in  my  sitting-room." 

With  this,  she  walked  away,  leaving  the  men  to  settle 
the  question  between  themselves.  Nick  thought  then 
that  he  understood.  She  mentioned  the  promised  invita- 
tion, rather  than  break  away  from  him  too  abruptly,  but 
certainly  she  could  not  wish  him  to  accept.  If  she  had  not 
wanted  to  escape  from  his  society,  she  would  not  have 
fallen  in  with  Falconer's  suggestion.  Perhaps  she  had 
even  asked  Falconer  to  help  her  out  of  a  situation  which, 
for  some  dreadful  reason,  she  suddenly  found  impossible. 


ANGELA  AT  HER  WORST  205 

This  was  very  likely  Falconer's  way  of  coming  to  the 
rescue.  The  excuse  seemed  a  fairly  good  one,  and  the 
invitation  was  calculated  to  save  sensitive  feelings.  But 
it  was  not  quite  good  enough  —  or  the  feelings  were  too 
sensitive.  Nick  thanked  Falconer,  and  said  that  he  was 
sorry  to  miss  such  a  pleasure,  but  could  not  trust  Billy  to 
drive  the  Bright  Angel :  he  must  stick  to  the  helm. 

When  Angela  came  back  in  a  few  minutes  with  Sonia 
Dobieski,  Falconer  was  still  trying  to  persuade  Billiard 
to  change  his  mind,  proposing  that,  if  Billy  could  not  drive, 
the  Bright  Angel  should  be  put  upon  a  tram.  For  an  in- 
stant Nick's  eyes  sought  Angela's,  but  she  was  tucking 
a  rose  into  her  belt,  and  did  not  look  up.  Her  lowered 
eyelids  and  long  lashes  gave  her  a  look  of  deliberate  remote- 
ness. Nick  again  expressed  his  gratitude,  but  was  "afraid 
he  couldn't  manage,  although  he  would  like  it  mighty 
well."  This  time  he  made  no  excuse  for  his  refusal,  and 
Falconer  let  the  subject  drop.  He  saw  that  something  was 
wrong,  and  feared  that  he  had  been  selfish  in  suggesting 
an  idea  which  would  give  him  Sonia  for  a  guest.  Certainly 
Mrs.  May  had  accepted  readily;  but  now  there  was  a 
jarring  note.  He  was  sorry,  but  could  do  nothing  more, 
except  to  express  regret  that  Hilliard  would  not  be  of  the 
party  on  board  the  McCloud.  Mademoiselle  Dobieski 
followed  suit,  and,  in  common  civility,  Angela  had  to  say 
what  they  said  whether  she  meant  it  or  not.  She  had  to 
look  up,  too,  when  she  spoke,  and  Nick's  eyes  met  hers. 
She  blushed  like  a  schoolgirl,  and  glanced  away,  adding 
quickly  that  she  would  have  liked  his  advice  as  well  as 
Falconer's,  at  Monterey.  "  You  know,  Mr.  Falconer  thinks 
I  shall  want  to  buy  land  along  the  Seventeen-Mile  Drive, 


206  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

and  build  my  house  there,"  she  said.  "I  wonder?  Since 
Santa  Barbara,  I've  been  thinking  I  might  prefer  the 
North.  But  I  can't  tell,  one  bit.  There's  something 
about  the  climate  of  California  —  I  suppose  it  must  be 
the  climate !  —  which  makes  me  in  two  minds  about  the 
same  things,  every  day." 

Nick  was  not  sure  whether  to  take  this  as  an  excuse  or 
a  stab.  He  was  sure  of  but  one  thing.  Something  hideous 
had  come  between  him  and  his  angel,  while  he  slept  and 
dreamed  of  her;  and  nothing  would  ever  be  the  same 
again.  Of  course  it  must  be  his  fault;  and  if  he  were 
used  to  women  he  would  perhaps  see  what  he  had  done 
that  a  woman  would  disapprove.  Or  perhaps,  even  so, 
he  would  be  in  the  dark,  for  there  were  all  the  other  women 
in  the  world,  and  there  was  Angela  May.  She  was  a  law 
unto  herself.  It  looked  just  now  as  if  she  were  a  hard  and 
cruel  law,  but  she  must  not  be  blamed.  She  had  a  right 
to  break  with  him .  She  had  promised  nothing . 

"I  think,"  said  Nick,  when  he  had  learned  that  the 
McCloud  was  to  be  "hitched"  to  a  train,  in  the  after- 
noon, "  I'd  better  be  getting  on.  I  might  as  well  say  good- 
bye to  you  all  no w. ' '  When  he  shook  hands  with  Mrs .  May, 
Falconer  and  Sonia  Dobieski  turned  aside  a  little,  speaking 
to  each  other.  "I  hope  you  understand,  Mr.  Hilliard, 
and  don't  think  I'm  being  rude  after  all  your  kindness," 
Angela  said,  melting  a  little;  "I  could  hardly  refuse 
them,  when  it  was  a  question  of  chaperoning  a  newly 
engaged  couple;  and  I  thought  you  would  join  us,  of 
course." 

This  concession  gave  Nick  an  unexpected  chance.  He 
dared  to  hope  that  it  was  an  olive  branch  held  out.  "  Did 


ANGELA  AT  HER  WORST  207 

you  really  think  that?"  he  asked  quickly,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Certainly.     Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  That's  the  trouble.  But  —  if  you 
did  think  it,  maybe  you'll  let  me  see  you  again  —  maybe 
this  won't  be  good-bye  for  always?" 

"Dear  me,  I  hope  not,  indeed!"  she  answered  in  a 
light,  frivolous  tone  again.  "We're  sure  to  meet.  You 
come  to  San  Francisco  sometimes  I've  heard  you  say. 
I  shall  be  there  —  oh,  ages." 

"You'll  let  me  call?"  Nick  was  faintly  —  very  faintly 
—  encouraged,  not  to  hope  for  much,  but  for  a  very 
little;  for  a  chance  to  retrieve  some  of  the  ground  he 
had  lost  in  a  night;  to  begin  low  down,  and  work 
up. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  at  the  Fairmont  Hotel,  when 
I  get  there."  She  was  almost  too  frankly  cordial  suddenly. 
The  tone  would  have  been  perfect  if  the  words  had  been 
spoken  in  New  Orleans,  before  a  thousand  things  had 
happened.  But  they  had  passed  that  stage  now  —  for 
good  or  ill. 

Then  they  finished  shaking  hands,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  Nick  left  her  with  Falconer  and  Sonia  Dobieski. 
The  instant  he  had  gone,  Angela  would  have  given  a  good 
deal  to  call  him  back,  although  she  was  sure  she  had  done 
only  her  duty  to  herself  and  him. 

Her  reasons  for  the  great  change  were  not  mysterious 
at  all.  They  were  very  clear,  and  seemed  to  her  very 
virtuous,  very  praiseworthy  —  up  to  the  last  minute.  Then 
she  thought  that  she  was  a  prig,  and  a  wretch,  and  several 
other  things  which  she  would  have  been  furious  to  be 


208  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

thought  by  anybody  else.     She  had  wanted  Nick  to  realize 

—  that  is,  she  had  felt  it  her  duty  to  make  him  realize  — 
that  things  could  not  go  on  as  they  were,  after  last  night. 
She  had  been  incredibly  silly  in  the  Mission  church.     All 
night  long  she  had  scolded  herself  for  the  way  she  had  "be- 
haved" and  let  the  "forest  creature"  behave  —  holding 
her  hand,  and  sitting  as  close  to  her  on  the  gallery  stairs 
as  if  they  were  engaged  in  a  desperate  ballroom  flirta- 
tion.    She   must   show  him  that  she  was  not  really  a 
stupid,  sentimental   person.      She    made   up  her    mind 
that  they  must  begin  all  over  again,  the  very  first  thing 
in  the  morning;  and,  true  to  her  resolution,  she  had,  in- 
deed, begun  all  over  again.      She  had  torn  a  hole  in  the 
net  which  was  binding  them  together  —  all  through  her 
own  silly  fault! 

In  her  heart,  she  had  wanted  him  to  accept  Falconer's 
invitation;  but  she  had  not  wanted  him  to  know  that  she 
had  wanted  him.  The  thing  was  to  give  the  impression 
that  she  would  be  pleased  if  he  went,  and  not  miserable  if 
he  refused.  If  they  all  went  to  Monterey  together  on  Mr. 
Falconer's  private  car,  they  would  not  be  losing  each  other 

—  as  friends;  they  would  merely  be  adjusting  their  rela- 
tions, which,  owning  to  San  Miguel,  had  suddenly  got 
dangerously  out  of  hand. 

It  was  only  when  Nick's  back  was  turned,  and  he 
was  going,  that  she  saw  things  from  his  point  of 
view.  Why  had  she  not  been  clever  enough  to 
keep  to  the  happy  medium  and  not  make  him  think 
that  he  had  done  something  dreadfully  wrong  —  that 
on  second  thoughts  she  was  blaming  him  for  last  night, 
and  punishing  him?  Surely  she  might  have  managed 


ANGELA  AT  HER  WORST  209 

better  —  she  a  woman  of  the  world,  and  he  a  mere 
"forest  creature"? 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  thing  was  done,  and  badly 
done.  Angela  saw  herself  a  worm,  and  Nick  noble  as  a  tall 
pine-tree  of  the  mountains.  Still,  it  was  best  that  the 
break  should  have  come,  one  way  or  another. 

"Why  on  earth  should  I  care?"  she  asked  herself 
angrily.  "  We  could  never  go  on  having  a  real  friendship, 
all  our  lives  —  I  and  a  man  like  that.  He's  a  splendid 
fellow  —  of  course,  above  me  in  lots  of  ways;  but  we're  of 
different  worlds.  I  don't  see  how  anything  could  change 
that .  What  a  pity  it  all  is  —  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  his ! " 
And  she  thought  how  awkward  his  fit  of  shy  self -conscious- 
ness had  made  him  appear  in  contrast  with  a  cultured 
man,  a  cosmopolitan  like  Falconer.  It  was  she  who  had 
made  him  self-conscious.  She  knew  that.  But  there  was 
the  fact.  Falconer  was  a  man  of  her  world.  NickHilliard 
was  not.  It  was  sad  that  Nick,  with  his  good  looks  and 
intelligence  and  fine  qualities,  could  not  have  had  ad- 
vantages when  a  boy  —  could  not  have  gone  to  a  university 
or  at  least  associated  with  gentlefolk  as  their  equal  —  which 
he  was  in  heart.  But  now  he  had  got  those  slipshod  ways 
of  speaking  he  could  never  change.  And  there  were  a 
thousand  other  things  which  put  him  outside  the  pale  of 
the  men  she  knew.  She  would  not  listen  when  a  sarcastic 
voice  within  defended  Nick,  sneering,  "Oh,  yes,  Prince 
Paolo  di  Sereno  and  some  of  his  friends  are  far  superior 
to  Mr.  Hilliard,  aren't  they?" 

Irritated  because  the  "forest  creature"  had  become  of 
paramount  importance  in  her  life  when  he  should  remain 
the  merest  episode,  she  was  surprised  and  even  horrified 


210 

to  find  herself  despairing  because  he  had  done  what  she 
forced  him  to  do.  She  could  have  cried  for  what  he  must 
be  thinking  of  her.  She  wanted  to  go  on  seeing  his  faults, 
but  in  her  changing  mood  she  could  see  only  her  own. 
"He  is  one  of  the  noblest  gentlemen  in  the  world,"  some- 
thing inside  her  said.  "You  aren't  worthy  to  black  his 
boots ! "  Then  the  picture  of  herself  blacking  them  —  the 
shiny  ones  that  were  too  tight  —  rose  before  her  eyes,  and 
she  was  afraid  that  she  was  going  to  laugh  —  or  else  to  sob. 
Anyhow,  he  was  gone,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it  all ! 

But  when  afternoon  came,  things  were  different  again. 
In  Falconer's  private  car,  where  she,  Princess  di  Sereno, 
was  the  chaperon,  and  Sonia  Dobieski  was  queen,  Angela 
was  so  desperately  homesick  for  Nick  Hilliard  that  she  did 
not  see  how  she  could  get  on  without  his  —  friendship. 
"After  all,"  she  reminded  herself,  excusing  her  incon- 
sistency, "/  didn't  send  him  away.  He  went  of  his  own 
accord.  He  might  be  here  now.  He  refused  to  come  with 
us.  It's  only  that  we  oughtn't  to  be  rushing  about  together 
any  more  in  that  absurd  way.  It  won't  do.  Things  keep 
happening  —  unexpected  things  —  like  last  night.  Still 
if  he  comes  to  San  Francisco  —  if  he  asks  again  to  'show 
me  the  sights'  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  say  yes  —  just 
to  so  small  a  favour  —  and  to  make  up  —  hi  case  his  feel- 
ings are  hurt." 

In  her  heart  she  knew  that  his  feelings  were  hurt.  But 
had  she  not  hurt  her  own? 

There  was  a  piano  in  the  drawing-room  part  of  the  car. 
Sonia  was  singing  to  Falconer.  They  had  forgotten  Mrs. 
May,  without  whose  martyred  presence  they  could  not  have 
had  this  happiness.  The  soul  of  the  Russian  girl  seemed 


ANGELA  AT  HER  WORST  211 

to  pour  out  with  her  voice,  as  upon  a  tide.  The  sorrow  and 
pain  of  her  past  exile  were  in  it  at  first :  then  it  rose  to  the 
joy  of  new  life  in  a  new  world.  The  sweetness  of  the  voice 
and  all  that  it  meant  of  love  after  anguish  stabbed  Angela 
as  she  listened  in  the  distance,  like  a  knife  dipped  in 
honey. 


xvn 

SEVENTEEN-MILE  DRIVE 

THINGS  were  better  at  Del  Monte.  Mrs.  Harland 
was  there,  and  made  a  delightful  hostess.  It  rather 
amused  Angela  to  watch  Theo  Dene  with  Sonia  Dobieski, 
and  to  see  how  delightful  Falconer's  sister  was  to  both. 
But  somehow  she  contrived  that  Miss  Dene  should  not  be 
of  the  motoring  party  for  the  Seventeen-Mile  Drive.  A 
young  officer  from  the  Presidio  was  produced,  to  compen- 
sate as  far  as  could  be  for  her  frankly  lamented  "failure"; 
and  Theo  resigned  herself  to  a  second-best  flirtation.  It 
was  consoling  to  think  that  Falconer  had  been  in  love  with 
the  Dobieski  long  before  he  saw  her:  and  Theo  could 
almost  forgive  the  Russian,  whom  she  considered  plain  and 
gawky  compared  to  herself.  She  could  not,  however,  for- 
give "Mrs.  May"  for  having  come  into  the  party,  and  for 
being  liked  by  the  host  better  than  she  was  liked.  Judging 
another  woman  by  herself,  she  thought  that,  out  of  revenge 
for  one  or  two  little  things  (such  as  the  talk  about  Mrs. 
Gay  lor  and  Nick  Hilliard),  Angela  was  trying  to  "take 
away"  her  California  friends.  If  Theo  had  considered 
it  worth  while,  she  would  have  broken  her  word,  and  told 
who  "Mrs.  May"  really  was;  but  that  would  be  worse 
than  useless,  as  it  would  only  make  Angela  seem  of  more 
importance  than  at  present.  However,  on  hearing  that 

212 


SEVENTEEN-MILE  DRIVE  213 

Mrs.  May  might  decide  to  "run  up  to  Shasta  and  the 
McCloud  River,"  she  promised  herself  a  certain  amount  of 
fun.  She  had  reminded  Mrs.  Harland  so  often  about  writ- 
ing to  Mrs.  Gaylor,  that  at  last  the  letter  had  been  sent. 
The  lady  who  was  supposed  to  have  a  claim  upon  Nick 
Hilliard  was  asked  to  visit  Rushing  River  Camp,  as  Fal- 
coner's place  was  called;  and  a  telegram  had  been  dis- 
patched by  Falconer  himself  to  Hilliard  at  the  St.  Francis 
Hotel  in  San  Francisco,  whither  he  was  bound.  If  they 
all  came  —  yes,  Theo  would  have  her  fun. 

She  thought  of  this,  as  she  flirted  with  the  officer  from 
the  Presidio,  and  promised  to  make  him  the  hero  of  her 
next  book.  But  the  party  in  Falconer's  motor  thought  of 
her  not  at  all. 

Angela  was  enchanted  with  the  peninsula  of  Monterey. 
In  the  dark  arbour  of  the  cedar  forest  Falconer  kept  order- 
ing the  chauffeur  of  a  hired  car  to  slow  down,  or  stop.  The 
practically  minded  young  man  believed  that  this  great 
gentleman  and  the  three  ladies  must  be  slightly  mad.  It 
was  so  queer  to  stop  a  car  when  she  was  going  well  just 
to  stare  around  and  talk  poetry  about  a  lot  of  trees. 

One  of  the  ladies,  the  prettiest  and  youngest,  with  yellow 
hair  under  her  gray  motor-bonnet,  said  they  weren't  trees 
but  people  —  either  nymphs  or  witches  —  and  the  rest  of 
the  party  humoured  her,  talking  nonsense  about  Greece 
and  goddesses.  He  thought  the  pleasure  of  a  motor  trip 
was  "going  some";  but  his  passengers  seemed  to  have  other 
ideas.  They  were  idiots,  of  course,  but  they  seemed  mighty 
happy. 

Angela,  however,  was  less  happy  than  the  others,  less 
happy  than  she  tried  to  seem.  She  had  a  dim  idea  that, 


214  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

if  she  had  come  with  Nick,  she  would  have  thought  this 
the  most  beautiful  place  on  earth,  and  that  she  had  found 
the  ideal  spot  for  a  home.  As  it  was,  in  spite  of  all  the 
loveliness,  she  was  not  sure  of  herself,  or  what  she  wanted. 
This  made  her  ashamed.  She  was  as  self-conscious  as  Nick 
had  been  yesterday,  and  in  sheer  panic  fear  lest  "they" 
should  think  she  was  pining  for  Hilliard,  or  grieving  over 
some  stupid  quarrel,  she  said  that  she  would  certainly 
buy  land  in  the  forest.  She  must  not  lose  such  a  chance. 
If  for  any  reason  she  should  change  her  mind,  she  could 
always  sell,  couldn't  she?  On  this  point  Falconer  re- 
assured her.  "You  can  sell  to  me,"  he  laughed  in  the 
light-hearted  way  that  surprised  the  chauffeur.  "You 
build  a  house  and  furnish  it,  and  take  all  the  trouble, 
and  I'll  buy  it  from  you  —  to  live  in  myself  when  I 
want  to  imagine  I'm  in  Greece  or  Sicily,  as  I  do  some- 
times when  I'm  too  busy  to  go  there."  And  he  looked 
at  Sonia. 

Though  he  laughed,  he  was  in  earnest,  and  Angela  began 
to  feel  that  she  might  want  to  keep  her  house  —  if 
she  built  it.  She  saw  herself  walking  under  the  strange 
dark  trees  to  the  gray  rocks,  to  look  at  the  seals. 
Nick  was  with  her.  .  .  .  She  hurried  to  think  of 
something  else.  Nick  would  not  be  here.  They 
would  have  forgotten  each  other  by  the  time  her 
house  was  built.  Perhaps  he  would  be  married  to  his 
Mrs.  Gay  lor. 

After  all  it  did  not  seem  so  romantic  to  have  a  place 
where  she  could  go  and  look  at  some  seals,  alone.  Stupid ! 
Because  she  had  come  to  California  on  purpose  to  have  a 
place  where  she  could  be  alone. 


' 'Angela  was  enchanted  with  the  peninsula  of  Monterey  " 


SEVENTEEN-MILE  DRIVE  215 

"How  absurd  women  are!"  she  thought,  irritably. 
"As  soon  as  we  can  have  what  we  want,  we  don't  want  it. 
I  suppose  it  must  be  that.  Now  I  long  for  all  kinds  of  new 
things  I  can't  possibly  have,  which  would  be  very  bad  for 
me  if  I  could." 

After  lunching  at  the  wonderful  Club  House  built  of 
logs,  they  went  back  by  way  of  Monterey,  and  in  the  sleepy 
old  town  which  holds  more  California  history  than  any 
other  they  wandered  about,  "seeing  the  sights,"  one  after 
another.  They  paid  their  respects  to  the  monument  of 
Father  Juniperra  Serra,  who  landed  at  Monterey  with  his 
soldiers  a  hundred  and  forty  years  ago  —  a  long  time  in 
America,  where  life  moves  quickly.  Then,  next  in  interest, 
came  the  verandaed  Custom  House,  built  under  Spanish 
rule,  and  looking  just  the  place  to  spend  a  lazy  afternoon 
in  gossiping  about  lovely  ladies,  and  pretending  to  do  im- 
portant business  for  the  Crown.  There  was  the  oldest 
Court-house  in  California,  too,  and  the  oldest  brick  house, 
and  the  oldest  frame  building  —  "  brought  round  the 
Horn";  the  oldest  theatre,  glorified  by  Jenny  Lind's  sing- 
ing; and,  indeed,  all  the  oldest  old  things  to  be  found  any- 
where in  history  or  romance.  But,  though  Angela  dared 
not  say  so,  she  wondered  what  had  become  of  the  really 
old  things,  new  in  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury when  Don  Sebastian  Viscanio  landed  to  name  the 
town  —  in  honour  of  Philip  the  Third  —  Monterey  or 
"King  of  the  Mountains." 

That  night  they  all  walked  together  under  the  great 
trees  of  the  park  at  Del  Monte.  A  lake  (where  black  swans 
threaded  their  way  like  dark  spirits  among  white  water- 
lilies)  drank  the  last  light  of  day,  and  little  waves  the  swans 


216  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

made  were  ruffled  with  dim  silver.  Above,  the  sky  was 
another  deep  blue  lake  lilied  with  stars;  and  as  darkness 
fell,  hot  and  sweet-scented  as  the  veil  of  an  Eastern  woman, 
slowly  the  boundaries  were  lost  between  forest  and  garden. 
Outlines  faded  and  blended  into  one  another.  The  fuchsias, 
big  as  babies'  fists,  the  poppies  like  dolls'  crdpe  sunbonnets, 
the  roses  large  enough  for  nightingales'  nests,  lost  their 
colour,  and  seemed  to  go  out  in  the  dark,  like  brilliant 
bubbles  that  break  into  nothingness.  Here  and  there 
yellow  light  flashed  near  the  ground,  far  from  the  walkers, 
as  if  a  faint  firefly  were  astray  in  a  tangle  of  flowers. 
Chinese  gardeners,  deft  and  mysterious  as  brownies,  were 
working  at  night  to  change  the  arrangement  of  flower-beds 
so  that  the  dwellers  in  the  hotel  should  have  a  surprise 
by  day. 

Theo  Dene  talked  of  Carmen  Gaylor,  telling  stories 
she  had  heard  of  the  rich  widow  from  people  whose 
acquaintance  she  had  first  made  at  Del  Monte.  "  I  am 
longing  to  meet  the  woman,"  she  said;  "I  think  she  must 
be  an  interesting  character,  typically  Spanish,  or  Mex- 
ican —  or,  anyhow,  not  American  —  from  what  they  all 
say.  A  beauty  —  vain  and  jealous,  and  a  fearful 
temper.  I  shouldn't  like  to  interfere  with  a  woman 
of  that  sort  in  what  she  thought  her  'rights,'  should 
you?" 

"One  can't  interfere  with  a  person  one  has  never  met, 
can  one?"  Angela  remarked,  pretending  not  to  under- 
stand. 

"Maybe  not,  in  real  We,"  Theo  agreed.  "I'm  always 
losing  myself  in  my  books,  and  forgetting  that  the  world 
outside  isn't  like  my  world,  made  of  romance.  But  you 


g 


SEVENTEEN-MILE  DRIVE  217 

can  understand,  can't  you;  here  where  it's  so  beautiful 
that  even  a  married  woman  —  who  has,  of  course,  left  love 
far  behind  her  in  Europe  —  must  feel  some  faint  yearning 
to  be  the  heroine  of  a  romance?  " 

Princess  di  Sereno  wondered  why  she  had  ever  been  nice 
to  Theo  in  Rome. 


XVIII 
LA  DONNA  E  MOBILE 

ANGELA  stood  at  her  hotel  window,  looking  down 
over  the  gilded  hills  and  purple  valleys  of  the  most  roman- 
tic city  in  America  —  San  Francisco,  the  port  of  adventure; 
away  to  the  Golden  Gate,  where  the  sea  poured  in  a 
flood  of  gold  under  a  sea  of  rosy  fog  —  a  foaming,  rush- 
ing sea  of  sunset  cloud,  beneath  a  high  dome  of  fire  away 
to  the  fortified  islands  and  to  Mount  Tamalpais. 

She  had  arrived  only  a  few  hours  ago,  after  two  days 
spent  at  Del  Monte,  and  was  waiting  for  Nick. 

There  had  been  a  note  sent  up  the  day  before,  and  she 
had  not  been  in  the  hotel  twenty  minutes  when  he  had 
telephoned.  It  had  been  good  to  hear  his  voice,  so  good 
that  Angela  had  felt  obliged  to  stiffen  her  resolution. 
Would  she  let  him  call?  he  asked;  and  she  said:  "Yes, 
come  before  dinner."  Her  impulse  was  to  say,  "  Dine  with 
me,"  but  she  would  not.  Instead,  she  added,  "I  dine  at 
eight."  It  was  now  after  seven,  and  she  had  dressed  to  be 
ready  for  Nick.  He  might  arrive  at  any  minute.  Angela 's 
heart  was  beating  quickly  —  but  perhaps  it  was  the  glory 
of  the  sunset  that  made  her  blood  run  fast.  She  was  listen- 
ing for  the  bell  of  the  telephone,  yet  when  the  sharp  sound 
came  it  went  through  her  nerves  with  the  thrill  of  the  un- 
expected. 

218 


LA  DONNA  E  MOBILE  219 

"A  gentleman,  Mr.  Hilliard,  has  called,"  announced  the 
small  impersonal  voice  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire. 

"Ask  him  to  come  up,"  Angela  answered,  feeling  virt- 
uously firm  in  her  resolve  that  really  had  not  weakened 
once  hi  the  last  five  days ! 

The  pretty  white  room  was  full  of  rose-coloured  twilight, 
so  pink,  it  seemed,  that  if  you  closed  your  hand  tightly  you 
might  find  a  little  ball  of  crushed  rose-petals  there  when 
you  opened  it.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  shut  out  so  much  love- 
liness by  switching  on  the  electricity,  so  when  Nick  came 
he  found  Angela,  a  tall,  slim  black  figure,  with  a  faint  gold 
nimbus  round  its  head,  silhouetted  against  a  background 
of  flaming  sky.  Standing  as  she  did  with  her  back  to  the 
window,  he  could  hardly  see  her  face,  but  the  sunset 
streamed  full  into  his  as  he  crossed  the  room,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

His  dark  face  and  deep-lighted  eyes  looked  almost  un- 
earthly to  Angela  seen  in  this  wonderful  light.  No  man 
could  really  be  as  handsome  as  he  seemed !  She  must  re- 
member that  he  had  never  been  so  before,  never  would 
be  again.  It  was  only  an  effect.  "  It's  like  meeting  him 
transformed,  in  another  world,"  was  the  thought  that 
flashed  through  her  head.  And  the  immense  height  of 
this  great  house  on  a  hill,  the  apparent  distance  from  the 
veiled  city  beneath,  with  its  starlike  lights  beginning  to 
glitter  through  clouds  of  shadow,  all  intensified  the  fancy. 
For  an  instant  it  was  as  if  they  two  met  alone  together  on 
a  mountain-top,  immeasurably  high  above  the  tired,  strug- 
gling crowd  of  human  things  where  once  their  place 
had  been. 

Strange  what  fantastic  ideas  jump  into  your  mind! 


220  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Angela  was  ashamed;  and  her  embarrassment,  mingling 
with  admiration  of  Nick  which  must  be  hidden,  chilled  her 
greeting  into  commonplace.  Yet  she  could  hardly  take 
her  eyes  from  his  good  looks. 

Nick  had  dressed  himself  for  evening  in  some  of  those 
clothes  bought  in  haste,  ready-made,  to  please  a  woman 
who  had  laughed  at  them  and  at  him,  during  his  abbrevi- 
ated visit  in  New  York.  The  woman  did  not  laugh  now. 
She  forgot  that  she  had  ever  laughed;  and  the  thought 
was  in  her  mind  that  the  large  white  oval  of  evening  shirt 
set  off  his  head  like  a  marble  pedestal. 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand,  and 
holding  it  rather  high,  in  the  English  way,  which  seemed 
excessively  formal  to  Nick.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you 
again." 

Nick's  heart  went  down.  Her  voice  did  not  sound  glad. 
This  was  just  what  he  had  expected,  though  not  what  he 
had  hoped.  She  had  changed  toward  him  the  day  they 
parted,  and  though  she  had  flung  him  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment, evidently  she  had  gone  on  changing  more  and  more. 
There  seemed  little  good  in  asking  what  he  had  come  to 
ask;  but  he  had  to  get  through  with  it  now. 

"I  guess  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  I'm  glad  to  see  you," 
he  said.  He  looked  at  that  nimbus  round  her  head,  as  she 
stood  with  her  back  to  the  window.  He  could  say  no  more, 
though  he  had  meant  to  add  something. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?"  she  questioned  him 
almost  sharply. 

Nick  laughed,  embarrassed.  "I  was  thinking  some 
words  that  sound  like  poetry  —  or  no,  they  were  thinking 
themselves.  Night  in  her  eyes,  morning  in  her  hair! 


LA  DONNA  E  MOBILE  221 

Because  standing  like  you  do,  Mrs.  May,  a  kind  of  gold 
powder  wreath  seems  to  be  floating  around  your  head." 

She  laughed  too.  "  You  must  have  been  reading  poetry 
since  I  left  you !" 

"No,  that  came  out  of  my  head.  But  I've  been  thinking 
a  whole  lot.  About  a  good  many  things  —  only  most  of 
them  were  about  you,  or  came  back  to  you  if  they  didn't 
begin  there.  Don't  you  know  how  one  idea  can  sort  of 
run  through  all  your  thoughts?  " 

"I  know,"  said  Angela.  Just  so  had  the  idea  of  him 
been  running  through  all  her  thoughts  these  last  few  days. 
"But,"  she  added  with  an  effort,  "why  should  you  have 
been  thinking  of  me?  We're  such  —  new  friends. " 

"Yes,"  Nick  admitted,  "but  you  can't  always  account 
for  your  thoughts." 

"Of  course  not.  And  I'm  grateful  for  a  few  of  yours. 
Have  you  been  enjoying  San  Francisco?  Do  sit  down. 
And  would  you  mind  putting  on  the  electricity?" 

"Must  I?     It's  beautiful  like  this." 

"Very  well.     Leave  it  so." 

She  sat  on  a  sofa,  still  with  her  back  to  the  window,  and 
Nick  took  a  chair  facing  the  light. 

"  I've  had  a  feeling  on  me  of  waiting,"  said  Nick.  "  Just 
that.  I  haven't  gone  around  much,  though  this  is  the  first 
time  I've  been  in  San  Francisco,  except  for  a  day,  since  the 
city's  grown  up  after  the  fire.  I  was  waiting  to  see  if  you'd 
let  me  show  you  things,  as  you " 

"As  I  —  what?  "  Angela  asked,  when  he  paused. 

"I  was  going  to  say,  as  you  partly  promised.  But  that 
wouldn't  be  fair,  because  you  didn't  really  promise  any- 
thing." 


222  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

If  he  had  claimed  a  right,  it  would  have  been  easy  to 
say  that  it  didn't  exist,  but  he  made  things  harder  by 
claiming  nothing.  Still,  she  went  on:  "No,  of  course,  I 
couldn't  promise.  As  I'm  situated  now,  it's  difficult  to 
make  plans.  However,  if  you've  really  waited  for  me,  it 
was  kind,  and  there's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  ask  you 
to  show  me  San  Francisco.  Already,  even  though  I  haven't 
gone  about  at  all,  except  just  'taxying'  up  to  the  hotel, 
I  can  see  it's  wonderful.  From  this  window,  it's  like 
looking  out  on  Rome,  with  all  its  hills  —  Rome  trans- 
planted to  the  sea.  And  I  know  you,  and  don't  know 
Mr.  Morehouse,  who's  my  only  other  resource  here.  Be- 
sides, he's  a  busy  man;  and  if  you're  busy,  you  pretend 
not  to  be." 

"I'm  having  a  vacation,"  Nick  explained. 

"All  the  nicer  of  you,  spending  some  of  it  on  me.  But 
I  mustn't  let  you  spend  too  much.  Besides,  I  have  as 
little  time  as  you  have  for  running  about  the  country. 
Everything  has  changed  with  me  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"I  was  afraid  so!"  Nick  exclaimed,  before  he  could 
stop  to  think. 

"Only  because  I've  bought  land,"  Angela  said  hastily. 
"  Some  of  California  —  five  acres  on  the  peninsula  of 
Monterey  —  is  mine!  I  must  decide  on  an  architect. 
Isn't  that  exciting?  Then,  while  he's  working  out  our 
joint  ideas,  perhaps  I'll  make  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Harland. 
I'm  rather  tired,  and  I  believe  it  will  do  me  good." 

"I  expect  it  will,"  said  Nick  bravely. 

"Think  of  the  journey  I've  had  from  Europe,  and  not  a 
day's  rest  since,"  went  on  Angela,  with  the  air  of  excusing 
herself. 


LA  DONNA  £  MOBILE  223 

"It  must  have  been  mighty  hard  on  you,"  Nick  agreed. 
He  flushed  faintly,  as  if  he  deserved  reproach  for  incon- 
siderateness. 

"Not  that  I  felt  the  need  of  rest  till  —  till  now,"  she 
hurried  on.  "It  was  delicious  sailing  along  with  your 
Bright  Angel.  When  I'm  at  Rushing  River  Camp  I  shall 
think  of  her  again,  wondering  who  is  spinning  about  with 
you  in  my  place.  For  you'll  often  take  your  friends  out 
when  you're  at  home?" 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Nick's  tongue  to  answer,  "Bright 
Angel  was  bought  for  you;  named  after  you,  and  I  can 
never  bear  to  take  anybody  else,  now  you've  finished  with 
her  —  and  me."  But  that,  like  claiming  a  promise  half 
made,  "wouldn't  have  been  fair."  If  he  hinted  that  the 
car  had  been  got  for  her  sake,  she  would  be  distressed. 
Some  men  in  his  place  would  have  said  —  whether  meaning 
it  or  not  —  "No  other  woman  shall  ever  go  with  me  in  that 
auto."  And  the  wish  to  say  this  was  in  Nick's  mind,  but 
he  knew  that  it  would  be  in  bad  taste.  Besides,  there  was 
a  woman  who  would  want  to  try  his  car,  and  it  would  be 
unfriendly  to  deny  her.  So  he  said,  "  There  is  one  friend 
I  must  take:  Mrs.  Gaylor.  I've  talked  to  you  about 
her.  She'll  be  interested  in  Bright  Angel  when  I  get 
home." 

"  Yes ;  of  course,"  replied  Angela.  It  was  extraordinary 
how  much  she  disliked  the  picture  of  Nick  and  a  beautiful 
dark  woman  together  in  the  car  where  her  place  had  been 
by  his  side.  Could  it  be  that  Theo  Dene  was  right?  Was 
Nick's  interest  in  her  —  Angela  —  less  than,  and  different 
from,  his  interest  in  Mrs.  Gaylor?  She  had  no  right  to 
know,  no  right  to  want  to  know,  still  less  to  try  to  find  out. 


224  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Yet  she  felt  that  not  to  know  very  soon  would  make  her 
lose  sleep,  and  appetite,  and  interest  in  daily  Me. 

Silence  fell  between  them  for  a  moment.  The  rose  of 
sunset  burned  to  ashes-of-rose.  A  small  clock  on  the 
mantelpiece  mentioned  in  a  discreet  voice  that  it  was  a 
quarter  to  eight.  Nick  got  up,  rather  heavily  for  a  man 
so  lithe  as  he. 

"Well,  I  must  go,"  he  said.  "Thank  you  for  letting 
me  take  you  around  San  Francisco.  May  I  come  to- 
morrow morning?" 

"Oh,  do.  About  half-past  nine."  She  got  up  also, 
feeling  miserable,  though,  as  she  pointed  out  to  herself, 
for  no  real  reason. 

"I'll  be  prompt."  He  put  out  his  hand,  and  she  laid 
hers  in  it,  looking  up  to  his  face  with  a  smile  which  would 
not  for  the  world  have  been  wistful.  Suddenly  his  fingers 
gripped  hers  convulsively. 

"  So  it's  all  over ! "  he  whispered. 

"No,  no;  not  all  over,"  she  contradicted  him.  "There's 
to-morrow." 

"Yes,  there's  to-morrow,"  he  echoed. 

"I  told  you  at  first,"  and  she  tried  to  laugh,  "that 
'sufficient  for  the  day  was  the  trip  thereof.'  Nothing 
was  to  be  planned  ahead." 

"It's  all  right,  Mrs.  May,"  Nick  answered.  "I  want 
to  be  glad  you're  going  to  have  that  McCloud  River  visit. 
And,  of  course,  you've  got  your  new  place  to  think  of. 
No  wonder  you're  sick  of  travelling  and  want  to  settle 
down.  It's  all  right,  and  there's  to-morrow,  as  you  say." 

He  shook  her  hand,  moving  it  up  and  down  mechan- 
ically, then  dropped  it,  and  turned  to  go.  Another  second 


LA  DONNA  E  MOBILE  225 

and  the  door  was  opening.  Then  it  was  shutting  behind 
him.  He  had  gone!  And  though  he  was  coming  to-morrow 
for  a  little  while,  nothing  would  ever  be  as  it  had  been  be- 
tween them.  It  was  now,  not  to-morrow,  that  she  was 
sending  him  definitely  out  of  her  life;  and  he  understood. 

Never  had  Angela  thought  so  quickly.  She  trembled  as 
she  stood  staring  at  the  shut  door.  Her  cheeks  burned, 
and  a  pulse  beat  in  her  throat,  under  the  string  of  pearls. 
She  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands,  and  they  were  very 
cold. 

"He  shan't  go  to  that  woman,  and  take  her  out  in  my 
place  in  the  Bright  Angel!"  she  said  out  aloud,  and  flew  to 
the  door. 

"Mr.  Billiard!  —  Mr.  Hilliard!"  she  called. 

Everything  seemed  to  depend  —  though  this  was  non- 
sense !  —  on  his  not  having  got  to  the  elevator.  She  stood 
in  the  doorway,  waiting  to  see  what  would  happen,  her 
blood  pounding  as  if  she  had  taken  a  really  important 
step;  which,  of  course,  was  not  the  case. 

He  had  turned  a  corner  of  the  corridor  and  was  out  of 
sight,  but  her  voice  reached  him,  and  he  came  back. 

"Was  there  something  you  forgot  to  tell  me?"  he 
asked.  Perhaps  she  was  going  to  say  that  after  all  she 
would  not  go  out  to-morrow. 

"No,  not  that  I  forgot  —  something  I  want  to  say. 
Come  in  again." 

She  whisked  the  tail  of  her  black  chiffon  dress  back  into 
the  room.  He  followed  her,  wondering  and  silently 
anxious. 

"I've  changed  my  mind,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
(There !  He  had  known  it.  She  was  not  going.) 


226  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Would  you  still  care  to  be  my  'trail  guide'  in  the 
Yosemite  Valley?  " 

"Would  I  care? "  echoed  Nick. 

"Then  we'll  go.  I'll  give  up  the  McCloud  River.  I'll 
telephone  Mrs.  Harland  —  she's  in  San  Francisco  till  day 
after  to-morrow.  I'll  find  an  excuse  —  I  haven't  had 
time  to  think  it  out  yet.  But  I  don 't  care  what  happens,  I 
won't  change  again!  I'm  going  to  the  Yosemite  if  you'll 
take  me." 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly.  "Because  you're  kind- 
hearted,  and  afraid  you've  hurt  me " 

"No  —  no !     Because  I  want  to  go! " 

Women  are  strange,  and  hard  to  understand,  when  they 
are  worth  taking  the  trouble  to  understand;  and  even 
then  they  cannot  understand  themselves. 


XIX 
THE  CITY  OF  ROMANCE 

ANGELA  was  ridiculously  happy  next  morning.  She 
had  no  regrets.  Nick  had  stayed  to  dinner  after  all, 
and  they  had  made  plans.  There  was  nothing  in  this, 
really,  she  reminded  herself,  laughing  five  times  an 'hour; 
nothing  at  all.  But  it  was  about  as  wild  and  exciting  as 
if  —  as  if  it  were  an  elopement:  to  have  given  up  every- 
thing she  had  almost  decided  upon,  and  to  be  going  to  the 
Yosemite  Valley  —  with  Nick,  whom  she  had  intended 
gently  to  put  in  his  place  —  at  a  distance  from  hers. 

"There  will  never,  never  be  anything  in  my  life  again 
like  this,"  she  said.  "I've  never  lived.  I've  never  done 
the  things  I  wanted  to  do.  There  was  always  some  one  or 
something  to  keep  me  back.  Now,  for  a  week  or  a  fort- 
night, I  shall  live  —  live !  nothing  and  no  one  shall  keep  me 
back."  She  knew  how  absolutely  contradictory  this  was, 
after  taking  so  much  pains  to  "let  the  'forest  creature' 
down  gently,"  and  begin  all  over  again.  But  she  did  not 
care.  Nothing  mattered,  except  that  she  could  not  send 
him  to  Mrs.  Gaylor.  As  gaily  as  she  had  embarked  upon 
the  "little  adventure"  at  Los  Angeles,  did  she  now  face 
the  great  one. 

Nick,  too,  was  violently  happy,  happier  than  he  had 
ever  been  or  supposed  it  possible  to  be.  At  Los  Angeles 

227 


228  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

he  had  hardly  dared  to  hope  for  anything  beyond  the 
pleasure  of  having  this  woman  by  his  side  for  a  few  hours. 
Since  then,  his  feelings  had,  as  he  expressed  it  to  himself, 
been  running  up  and  down,  like  a  thermometer  in  change- 
able weather;  but  they  had  been  "mostly  down,"  and 
during  the  last  few  days  had  mounted  little  above  freezing- 
point.  Now  the  sudden  bound  bewildered  him.  He  did 
not  know  why  Angela  had  changed  again  at  the  very 
moment  when  she  had  seemed  most  cold;  but  she  had 
changed,  and  almost  fiercely  he  determined  now  to  fight 
for  her.  He  loved  her,  and  she  must  know  what  was  in  his 
heart.  She  could  not  do  what  she  had  just  agreed  to  do 
unless  she  liked  and  trusted  him :  and  he  would  make  the 
most  of  all  the  days  to  come.  He  would  keep  her  forever 
if  he  could. 

Her  sudden  throwing  over  of  her  own  plans,  for  his  sake, 
seemed  too  good  to  be  true,  especially  after  her  strange 
conduct  at  Paso  Robles;  but  like  a  boy  who  dreams  he 
has  all  the  Christmas  presents  he  ever  coveted  in  vain, 
and  wakes  to  find  them  his,  he  reminded  himself  that  it 
was  true  —  true  —  true ! 

Angela  did  not  tell  Nick  the  excuse  she  offered  Mrs. 
Harland  for  giving  up  her  visit.  It  was  enough  for  him 
that  it  was  given  up.  He  would  have  been  even  more 
proud  and  pleased,  however,  if  he  had  known  how  frankly 
she  confessed  her  real  intentions. 

To  do  that  seemed  to  Angela  the  only  way.  To  have 
fibbed  a  little,  or  even  to  have  prevaricated  whitely, 
would  have  spoiled  everything. 

"I  find,  dear  Mrs.  Harland,"  she  said  in  her  letter, 
"that  I  can't  tear  myself  from  San  Francisco.  If  I  go 


THE  CITY  OF  ROMANCE  229 

with  you  to  Shasta  and  the  McCloud  River,  and  come 
back  in  a  week  or  a  fortnight  to  do  my  sightseeing, 
nothing  will  be  the  same.  I  believe  you  will  understand 
how  I  feel.  My  impressions  will  be  broken.  Besides,  Mr. 
Hilliard  is  here  now,  and  willing  to  show  me  what  I  ought 
to  see.  I'm  afraid  I  seemed  to  repay  his  kindness  by 
being  rude  to  him  at  Paso  Robles.  After  San  Francisco,  he 
volunteers  to  be  my  'trail  guide'  through  the  Yosemite 
Valley,  and  if  I  put  off  that  trip  too  long  I  mayn't  get  so 
good  a  guide.  Mr.  Morehouse  has  advised  me  to  take  him, 
and  says  these  things  are  done  in  this  Western  World, 
where  gossip  is  blown  away  like  mist  by  the  winds  that 
sweep  through  the  Golden  Gate.  Besides,  why  should 
any  one  gossip?  There  is  no  cause;  and  I  am  nobody, 
and  known  to  few.  I'm  not  worth  gossiping  about! 
But  I  wonder  if  you'll  ever  again  invite  me  to  Rushing 
River  Camp?  I  hardly  dare  expect  it.  Yet  I  hope!" 

Already  Mrs.  Gay  lor  had  been  invited,  and  had  accepted; 
but  Angela  was  not  thinking  of  Mrs.  Gaylor  at  the  moment, 
and  she  was  doing  her  best  to  keep  Nick's  thoughts  from 
his  "boss's  widow."  He  and  "Mrs.  May"  went  about 
San  Francisco  together  like  two  children  on  a  holiday. 

The  place  was  a  surprise  to  Angela.  Her  father's  stories 
had  pictured  for  her  a  strange,  wild  city,  of  many  wooden 
houses,  a  tangle  of  steep  streets  running  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  a  few  great  mansions,  a  thousand  or  more  acres  of 
park  in  the  making.  But  the  San  Francisco  which  he  had 
known  as  a  boy  had  greatly  changed,  even  before  the  fire. 
Angela  was  aware  of  this,  though  she  had  not  been  able  to 
realize  the  vastness  of  the  change;  and  though  she  knew 
that  the  city  was  reborn  since  the  epic  tragedy  which  laid 


230  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

it  low,  she  had  expected  to  find  it  in  a  confused  turmoil  of 
growing.  The  work  done  in  six  or  seven  years  by  men 
who  loved  the  City  of  the  Golden  Gate  —  men  who  gave 
blood  and  fortune  for  her,  as  men  will  for  an  adored  woman 
— was  almost  incredible.  "Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day" 
she  had  often  heard;  but  this  great  town  of  many  hills,  so 
like  a  Rome  of  a  new  world,  seemed  to  have  risen  from  its 
ashes  by  magic. 

The  place  began  to  take  on  in  her  eyes  a  curious,  startling 
individuality.  She  began  to  think  of  the  city  not  as  a 
town,  but  as  a  person.  A  woman,  young,  lovely,  and 
beloved,  who  had  gone  gaily  to  bed  one  night  to  dream  of 
her  lovers,  her  jewels,  and  her  triumphs.  While  she  lay 
smiling  in  her  beauty  sleep,  this  woman  had  been  rudely 
aroused  by  a  cry  of  fire  and  shouts  that  warned  her  to  fly. 
Dazed,  she  dressed  in  wildest  haste,  putting  on  all  the 
gorgeous  jewels  she  could  find,  for  fear  of  losing  them 
forever,  and  wrapping  herself  in  exquisite  laces.  But  in 
her  hurry,  she  had  been  obliged  to  fling  on  some  very 
queer  garments  rather  than  not  be  clothed  at  all;  and, 
losing  her  head,  had  contrived  to  save  a  few  worthless 
things.  All  this  the  woman  had  done,  laughing  through  her 
fear  of  death,  because  nothing  could  conquer  her  brave 
spirit  and  because  she  knew  that,  scared  and  destitute, 
near  to  death,  she  would  be  rescued  at  last,  loved  better 
than  ever  for  her  sufferings,  and  by  and  by  would  be  more 
regal  than  before. 

Now,  here  was  this  vital  creature,  rewarded  for  her  faith 
by  the  worship  and  the  prowess  of  her  lovers.  What 
matter  if  she  still  wore  some  of  the  odd  things  she  had 
picked  up  in  a  hurry?  Gowns  better  than  she  had  ever 


THE  CITY  OF  ROMANCE  231 

boasted  were  being  fashioned  for  her;  and  the  contrast 
between  a  tiara  showing  under  a  sunbonnet,  a  scarf  of 
rose-point  covering  a  cotton  belt,  and  diamond-buckled 
shoes  slipped  on  to  torn  stockings,  made  her  beauty  more 
piquant,  as  she  sat  watching  the  work  of  her  lovers,  on  her 
throne  by  the  sea.  No  wonder  that  the  men  who  adored 
such  a  woman  were  brave  as  she!  generous  and  reckless 
as  she,  and  on  fire  with  energy  and  courage. 

"But  the  beautiful  woman  worked,  too,  to  help  her 
lovers,"  Nick  answered  Angela's  little  allegory.  "When 
she  was  wounded,  she  said,  'Just  give  me  a  hand  up  and  I 
won't  die.  You  shall  have  a  big  reward  for  all  you  do  — 
only  hurry,  for  I  can't  bear  to  be  seen  like  this  by  any  one 
but  you.'" 

"And  what  did  her  lovers  say?"  Angela  asked. 

"We'll  die  for  you,  gladly.  You  have  our  hearts. 
You  can  have  our  hearts'  blood. ' '  And  his  eyes  spoke 
to  her  of  himself. 

The  first  day  was  tiring,  nevertheless  Angela  went  out 
to  Oakland  that  night  to  the  Greek  theatre,  where  a  classic 
tragedy  was  to  be  performed;  and  next  day  it  was  the 
Presidio  and  Golden  Gate  Park.  They  lunched  at  the 
Cliff  House,  and  fed  the  barking  sea-lions  on  the  seal 
rocks.  Then  came  a  few  hours'  rest:  and  Chinatown  was 
saved  as  a  bonne-bouche  for  the  evening.  They  dined  in 
the  most  stately  and  expensive  of  the  Chinese  restaurants — 
"no  chop  suey  house,"  as  their  waiter  said,  where  they 
entered  through  the  kitchen  to  see  cakes  being  baked,  and 
pots  of  rice  in  the  act  of  cooking.  Upstairs  the  walls  were 
adorned  with  golden  flowers,  panel  paintings  by  artists  of 


232  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

China,  and  strange  dragons,  and  Buddhas  that  nodded  on 
shelves.  There  were  open-work  screens,  and  tables  and 
chairs  of  black,  carved  teakwood.  Angela  would  have  been 
aghast  had  she  dreamed  that  the  queer  dinner,  which  she 
liked  and  laughed  at,  cost  Nick  more  than  a  hundred 
dollars,  but  luckily  she  was  not  initiated  in  the  rarity  of 
bird's-nest  soup  or  other  Chinese  delicacies. 

It  was  half-past  eight  when  they  finished  dining,  the 
hour  when  Chinatown  begins  to  be  most  lively,  most 
ready  to  amuse  itself  and,  incidentally,  strangers.  Therein 
lay  the  kernel  of  the  nut,  the  blossom  of  the  clove :  that  this 
bit  of  the  old,  old  East,  inlaid  in  the  heart  of  the  new  West 
was  not  an  "exhibition"  like  "Japan  in  London,"  but  a 
large,  busy  town,  living  for  itself  alone.  The  big  posters 
in  Chinese  characters,  pasted  on  the  walls,  were  for  Chinese 
eyes;  not  meant  to  amuse  foreigners.  The  two  or  three 
daily  papers  printed  in  Chinese,  and  filled  with  advertise- 
ments, were  for  the  Chinese;  the  bazaars,  crammed  with 
strange  Eastern  things,  were  meant  to  attract  women  of 
the  Orient,  little  flitting  creatures  in  embroidered  silk 
jackets  and  long,  tight  trousers,  who  passed  and  gazed, 
with  dark  eyes  aslant;  let  European  women  come,  or 
stay  away,  as  they  pleased,  there  were  plenty  of  Chinese 
husbands  whose  purses  were  full  enough  to  keep  the 
merchants  of  Chinatown  contented.  The  tiny,  dressed-up 
Oriental  dolls  —  boy  and  girls  —  who  strolled  about  with 
pink  balloons  or  butterfly  kites,  in  the  short  intervals 
between  "Mellican"  school  and  Chinese  school,  were  not 
baby-actors  playing  parts  on  the  stage,  but  real  flesh  and 
blood  children,  who  had  no  idea  that  they  were  odd  to 
look  at  in  their  gay-coloured  gowns  and  tiny  caps. 


THE  CITY  OF  ROMANCE  233 

They  did  not  even  know  that  the  streets  through  which 
they  toddled  were  any  more  strange  than  the  "  Mellican" 
streets  outside  Chinatown,  which  they  doubtless  consid- 
ered extremely  dull,  made  up  of  huge  gray  and  white  build- 
ings like  mountains  or  prisons;  whereas  the  tortuous  ways 
and  blind  alleys  of  their  home-town  were  full  of  colour; 
balconied  house  fronts,  high  and  low,  huddled  together, 
painted  red  or  blue,  and  decorated  with  flowers,  or  shaped 
like  Chinese  junks  or  toy  castles  and  temples.  It  was  all 
new,  of  course,  this  town  of  theirs,  since  the  fire;  at  least 
what  was  above-ground  and  known  to  foreigners  was  new; 
but  it  had  been  built  in  imitation  of  past  glories.  The 
alleys  were  as  blind,  there  were  as  many  mysterious,  hid- 
den little  courts,  and  packing-case  houses  and  bazaars  as- 
ever,  so  that  the  children  saw  no  difference;  and  already 
a  curious  look  of  age,  a  drugged  weariness,  had  fallen  upon 
the  seven-year-old  Chinatown. 

Angela  walked  beside  Nick  through  the  lighted  streets, 
enchanted  with  the  flowerlike  lanterns  that  bloomed  in 
front  of  balconied  restaurants  or  places  of  entertainment, 
and  with  the  crowding  figures  that  shuffled  silently  by  in 
felt-soled  slippers  or  high  rocker  shoes.  Tiny,  elaborate 
women,  young  and  old,  slim  youths  with  greeny-yellow 
faces  like  full  summer  moons,  little  old  men  with  hands 
hidden  in  flowing  sleeves,  and  dull  eyes  staring  straight 
ahead,  were  to  her  ghosts  of  the  Far  East,  or  creatures  of  a 
fantastic  dream  from  which  she  would  soon  awake. 

When  they  had  "done"  the  principal  thoroughfares 
and  Angela  had  bought  ivory  boxes,  jade  bracelets,  and  a 
silver  bell  collar  for  Timmy  the  cat,  Nick  said  that  the 
time  had  come  to  join  their  guide.  He  had  engaged  a  man 


234  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

supposed  to  know  Chinatown  inside  and  out,  and  the 
rendezvous  was  at  9:30  in  Portsmouth  Square,  the 
"lungs  of  Chinatown"  —  close  to  the  memorial  statue  of 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

It  was  quiet  there,  and  pleasant  in  the  starlight,  faintly 
gilded  by  the  street  lamps.  The  young  moon  of  the  sixth 
month,  which  had  sunk  with  the  sun  when  Angela  was  in 
Monterey,  had  not  yet  dropped  beyond  distant  house  roofs. 
Its  pearly  profile  looked  down,  surrounded  by  a  clear- 
cut  ring,  like  the  face  of  a  pale  saint  seen  through 
the  rose-window  of  a  cathedral.  Soon  the  guide  came, 
a  little  dark  man  with  a  Jewish  face,  a  German  name, 
an  American  accent,  and  the  polite  manner  of  an 
Oriental. 

"What  would  you  like  the  lady  to  see?  "  he  asked. 

"Everything  you  advise,"  said  Nick.  "We've  dined  in 
a  Chinese  restaurant,  and  seen  the  things  everybody  sees. 
Now  we'll  do  a  few  barber  shops  and  drug  stores,  and 
anything  else  queer  you  can  think  of." 

"There's  an  old  fellow,"  suggested  the  guide,  "who 
used  to  be  head  musician  in  the  big  Chinese  theatre.  He 
has  a  place  of  his  own  now,  about  four  storeys  under- 
ground, where  he  tinkles  on  every  sort  of  Chinese  instru- 
ment. Probably  the  lady  would  like  to  visit  him.  And 
I  know  a  house  where  children  sing  and  dance.  It's  under- 
ground too;  and  the  poor  little  brutes,  who  go  to  two  kinds 
of  schools  till  nine  o'clock,  are  at  it  till  midnight.  But  the 
lady  needn't  mind.  If  she  doesn't  go,  somebody  else  will, 
so  the  kids  are  kept  out  of  their  beds  all  the  same  —  the 
more  money  the  merrier.  You  may  get  to  see  a  Chinese 
funeral  too,  though  I  ain't  sure  of  one  to-night 


THE  CITY  OF  ROMANCE  235 

"I  guess  the  lady  wouldn't  enjoy  butting  in  at  a 
funeral,"  said  Nick. 

"No,  she  wouldn't!"  Angela  added  hastily.  "But  I 
should  love  to  see  them  playing  fan-fan  —  isn't  that  what 
they  call  the  gambling  game?  —  and  —  and  smoking 
opium." 

"Afraid  the  gambling  can't  be  managed,"  said  Mr. 
Jacob  Schermerhorn,  sadly  shaking  his  head,  as  if 
the  good  days  were  gone.  "But  you'd  like  a  little 
curio  store  I'll  take  you  to  —  owned  by  an  American 
lady  married  to  a  Chinese,  and  wearing  the  costume. 
They  sell  relics  of  the  fire.  And  a  joss-house  is  inter- 
esting   " 

"But  the  opium  smoking "  Angela  persisted,  sus- 
pecting that  he  meant  to  slide  off  the  subject. 

"That's  not  easy.  Opium  smoking's  forbidden, 
and " 

But  Angela  grew  obstinate.  "I  shan't  feel  I've  seen 
Chinatown  unless  I've  seen  that.  The  books  say  it 
goes  on." 

"  It  does,  on  the  quiet  —  very  quiet !  But  they  're  scared 
to  death  of  being  found  out.  Besides " 

"Besides  — what?" 

» 

"  Well,  ma  'am,  your  husband  said  when  he  engaged  me 
he  thought  it  would  be  best  not  to  try  and  get  you  into 
any  such  place.  It  might  hurt  your  feelings." 

"Oh '."exclaimed  Angela.  Her  "feelings,"  if  not  hurt, 
were  in  commotion.  "He  —  he  isn't  my  husband." 
Then  she  wondered  if  it  would  not  have  been  better  to  have 
kept  silence,  and  let  the  man  think  what  he  pleased.  He 
would  never  see  or  hear  of  her  again.  She  laughed  to  show 


236  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Nick  that  she  was  not  embarrassed,  and  then  hurried  on. 
"I  must  see  them  smoking!" 

"It  would  make  you  feel  mighty  sad,  Mrs.  May,"  said 
Nick.  "I  went  once,  and  —  it  kind  of  haunted  me.  I 
thought  to  myself,  I'd  never  take  a  woman  who  had  a 
heart " 

"I  haven't  a  heart,"  laughed  Angela,  piqued.  "I've 
only  a  will.  But  —  you're  my  host,  so  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  give  my  will  up  to  yours." 

To  her  surprise,  Nick  did  not  yield.  "We'd  better 
begin  with  the  singing  children,"  he  said  to  Schermer- 
horn,  "and  then  we  won't  feel  we're  keeping  them  up 
late." 

The  guide  led  them  through  Dupont  Street,  the  street 
of  the  bazaars,  and  another  smaller,  less  noisy  street, 
where  fat,  long-gowned  men,  and  women  with  gold  clasps 
in  their  glittering  edifices  of  ebony  hair,  chaffered  for  dried 
abalones,  green  sugarcane,  and  Chinese  nuts.  In  base- 
ments they  could  see  through  half-open  doors  at  the 
bottom  of  ladderlike  steps,  earnest-faced  men,  with  long, 
well-tended  queues  of  hair,  busily  tonsuring  sleepy  clients. 
Stooping  merchants,  with  wrinkled  brown  masks  like  the 
soft  shells  of  those  nuts  which  others  sold,  could  be  dis- 
cerned in  dim,  tiny  offices,  poring  through  huge  round 
spectacles  as  they  wrote  with  paint  brushes,  in  volumes 
apparently  made  of  brown  paper.  Here  and  there,  in  a 
badly  lit  shop  with  a  greenish  glass  window,  an  old  chemist 
with  the  air  of  a  wizard  was  measuring  out  for  a  blue- 
coated  customer  an  ounce  of  dried  lizard  flesh,  some 
powdered  shark's  eggs,  or  slivered  horns  of  mountain 
deer.  These  things  would  cure  chills  and  fever;  many 


THE  CITY  OF  ROMANCE  237 

other  diseases,  too,  and  best  of  all,  win  love  denied,  or 
frighten  away  bad  spirits. 

By  and  by  they  turned  out  of  the  street  into  a  dim 
passage.  This  led  into  another,  and  so  on,  until  Angela 
lost  count.  But  at  last,  when  she  began  to  think  they 
must  be  threading  a  maze,  they  plunged  into  a  little 
square  court,  where  a  lantern  over  one  dark  doorway 
showed  faintly  the  blacks  of  irregularly  built  houses. 
Several  small  windows  which  looked  upon  the  court  were 
barred,  and  there  was  a  door  with  a  grated  peephole, 
where  Angela  fancied  that  she  caught  the  glint  of  eyes  as 
the  lantern  swung  in  a  light  breeze.  But  there  was  no  such 
grille  in  the  low-browed  door  which  the  guide  approached. 
It  stood  ajar,  and  he  pushed  it  open  without  knocking. 

"Follow,  please,"  he  said,  "it's  better  for  me  to  go 
first."  And  Angela  followed,  with  Nick  close  behind  her, 
down  a  narrow  flight  of  steps,  more  a  ladder  than  a  stair- 
way, which  descended  abruptly  from  the  threshold.  One, 
two,  three  flights  there  were,  so  steep  that  you  had  to  go 
slowly  or  tumble  on  your  nose,  and  then  down  at  the 
bottom  of  the  third  ran  a  long  passage,  where  a  greenish 
yellow  dusk  from  some  unseen  lamp  prevailed.  The  walls 
were  of  unpainted  wood,  made  of  slips  as  thin  as  laths,  and 
several  doors  were  roughly  cut  in  it.  At  the  end,  one  of 
these  doors  gaped  open,  music  of  a  peculiar  shrillness 
floated  out.  Also  a  smell  as  of  musk  and  sandalwood 
drifted  through  the  crack,  with  small,  fitful  trails  of  smoke 
or  curling  mist. 

On  the  other  side  they  were  burning  incense  inside;  a 
Chinese  man  and  a  woman,  two  tiny  children  like  gilded 
idols,  and  three  or  four  Europeans.  The  latter  were 


238  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

evidently  tourists,  with  a  guide.  They  sat  on  a  rough 
bench,  their  backs  to  the  door;  and  the  Chinaman  was 
perched  on  a  smaller,  higher  seat,  in  front  of  a  rack  hung 
with  several  odd,  brightly  painted  Chinese  musical  instru- 
ments. He  was  playing  solemnly  and  delicately  on  an 
object  like  a  guitar  gone  mad  — '-  so  thought  Angela  — 
bringing  forth  a  singing  sound,  small  and  crystalline;  but, 
glancing  over  his  shoulder  as  the  new-comer  appeared,  at 
once  he  snatched  up  another  curious  object,  smiling  at 
Angela,  as  much  as  to  say  the  change  was  a  compliment 
to  her.  The  instrument  was  of  the  mandolin  type, 
covered  with  evil-looking  snake-skin,  and  having  only  a 
few  strings,  which  the  player's  fingers  touched  lightly. 
Each  gave  out  a  separate  vibration,  though  all  blended 
together  with  a  strange,  alluring  sweetness,  and,  under- 
neath, Angela  thought  that  she  could  hear,  faintly,  a 
wicked  impish  voice  hissing  and  chuckling,  as  if  something 
alive  and  vilely  clever  were  curled  up  inside  the  instrument 
—  perhaps  the  spirit  of  the  snake  whose  skin  had  been 
stolen. 

The  fat  man  nodded  to  the  children  who  stood  opposite 
on  a  piece  of  matting,  their  silk-clad  backs  against  the 
wooden  wall,  which  was  pannelled  with  paintings,  very 
cheap,  and  not  beautiful  like  those  of  the  restaurant.  But 
the  colours  were  harmonious;  and  on  a  low  table  stood  a 
blue  dragon  vase,  holding  in  its  mouth  a  single  mariposa 
lily,  such  as  Angela  had  never  seen  before.  Nick,  standing 
beside  her,  whispered  the  name  of  the  white-and-crimson- 
spotted  butterfly  flower,  and  she  smiled  her  thanks,  as  the 
Chinese  woman  gave  the  boy's  cap  a  pat,  and  tweaked  the 
American  ribbon  bow  which  tied  the  queue  of  the  little 


THE  CITY  OF  ROMANCE  239 

girl.  Both  children  began  to  sing,  keeping  time  with  the 
snake-skinned  imp. 

The  boy,  who  looked  about  two  feet  in  height  —  no  more 
—  sang  stolidly,  with  an  unchanging  countenance,  and  no 
expression  in  the  black  beads  which  were  his  eyes.  He 
had  on  a  primrose-coloured  silk  jacket,  fastened  across  his 
miniature  chest  with  a  loop.  His  blue  pantaloons  were 
bound  round  his  ankles,  and  his  queue,  mostly  artificial, 
was  braided  with  scarlet.  The  girl,  however  —  still 
smaller  than  her  brother,  or  perhaps  her  fianct  —  lifted 
her  voice  emotionally,  singing  very  high,  with  the  notes 
of  a  musical  insect,  or  thin  silver  strings  stretched  tight. 
Her  eyes  rolled,  she  appeared  self-conscious,  though 
tired,  and  tinkled  her  silver  bracelets  and  anklets.  She  saw 
Angela  enter,  and  admired  the  newcomer's  pearly  skin 
and  gold  hair,  which  seemed  to  attract  all  the  light  in  the 
mean  room.  The  child  stared  at  her  intently,  taking  in 
every  detail  of  the  black  hat  and  simple  though  perfect 
dress.  But  the  singing  insect  was  not  alone  in  her  ad- 
miration. 

Suddenly  Angela  felt  a  touch  on  her  arm.  She  turned, 
and  saw  a  Chinese  girl,  who  might  have  been  sixteen  or 
seventeen,  smiling  up  at  her.  Angela  smiled  too,  and  the 
girl  kissed  her  own  fingers,  dimpling  with  pleasure,  her 
eyes  sparkling.  Then,  with  a  nod  of  her  head,  and  a  ges- 
ture of  the  hand,  she  invitingly  indicated  the  half-open 
door. 

Angela  glanced  at  Nick.  He  was  intent  on  the  children 
and  had  not  seen  the  girl.  Again  the  pretty  creature 
nodded  and  beckoned,  and  Angela's  curiosity  was  fired. 
Apparently  there  was  something  which  she  alone  was  priv- 


240  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

ileged  to  see.  She  was  amused  and  childishly  flattered. 
It  would  be  fun,  she  thought,  to  steal  away  and  give 
Mr.  Hilliard  a  surprise  when  he  turned  round  to  find  her 
gone.  Then,  just  when  he  was  beginning  to  be  frightened, 
she  would  come  back  and  tell  him  her  small  adventure  — 
whatever  it  might  prove  to  be. 

Cautiously  she  moved  to  the  door,  which  the  girl  as 
cautiously  opened  wider.  Then,  in  a  second,  she  was  out 
in  the  dusky  passageway,  beside  her  smiling  guide. 


XX 

THE  DOOR  WITH  THE  RED  LABEL 

"MELLICAN  gell  see  ole  Chineseman  smokee  opum 
pipe?"  the  girl  asked. 

"Why,  you  speak  English!"  exclaimed  Angela,  for- 
getting in  her  surprise  that  here  was  only  a  very  little  of 
China  set  in  the  midst  of  a  great  deal  of  America. 

"I  go  school  one  time,"  said  the  girl.  "Dis  times  I 
fo'get  sometings.  You  come  Chinese  gell.  You  velly 
pletty." 

Angela  laughed,  and  went,  guilty  but  excited.  This 
was  too  good  an  adventure  to  miss.  Schermerhorn  must 
know  the  inhabitants  and  habits  of  this  place,  and  he 
would  guess  what  had  become  of  her,  when  they  found 
her  gone.  "So  are  you  very  pretty,"  she  smiled. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  in  her  little  metallic  voice.  "I 
like  you.  You  like  me.  You  give  one  dollah;  I  take  you 
see  Chinese  man  smokes  mo'  'n  all  oddeh  mens.  He  velly 
old  —  knows  ebelyting." 

"Oh,  I  am  to  pay  you  a  dollar!  So  it  isn't  all  for  love 
of  my  beaux  yeux,"  murmured  Angela.  But  she  gave  the 
sum,  glad  that  she  had  spent  most  of  her  money  in  buying 
jade  and  ivory,  which  now  encumbered  Nick's  pockets. 
The  girl  took  first  her  dollar  and  next  her  gloved 
hand.  Then,  opening  one  of  the  unpainted  doors  in 

241 


242  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

the  long,  dusky  passage,  she  led  her  companion  into  a 
dark  cellar. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me?"  Angela  inquired,  thinking 
with  sudden  longing  of  the  lighted  room  of  the  musician, 
where  Nick  was  perhaps  beginning  to  look  for  her. 

"Next-do'h  house,"  replied  the  girl  calmly;  and  Angela 
would  have  been  ashamed  to  draw  back,  even  had  curiosity 
and  a  faint  excitement  not  compelled  her  to  go  on.  At 
one  end  of  the  cellar  was  a  wooden  stairway,  very  steep, 
going  both  up  and  down.  She  and  her  conductor  went 
down  one  flight,  then  along  a  short  passage,  then  up  some 
steps,  then  down  a  few  more.  Angela  was  enjoying  the 
experience,  but  her  joy  was  spiced  with  fear. 

The  two  girls  were  hi  a  very  strange  house,  much  stranger, 
Angela  thought,  than  the  one  they  had  left.  It  was  a 
rabbit-warren  of  tiny,  boxlike  rooms,  threaded  with 
narrow,  labyrinthine  passages,  just  wide  enough  for  two 
slim  persons  to  pass  side  by  side.  The  rough  wooden  walls 
were  neither  painted  nor  stained,  and  the  knot-holes  were 
stuffed  with  rags.  Here  and  there  a  rude  door  was  open, 
hanging  crookedly  on  its  hinges,  while  the  occupant  talked 
with  a  friend  outside,  or  prepared  for  an  expedition,  laden 
with  kitchen  utensils,  coal  and  food,  to  the  common 
cooking-place  of  the  rabbit  colony  —  a  queer  and  dismal 
set  of  iron  shelves,  long  and  narrow,  sticking  out  from  a 
wall,  and  calling  itself  an  oven. 

Each  door  of  each  tiny  room,  which  housed  an  indi- 
vidual or  a  whole  family,  had  the  name  of  the  owner  upon 
it,  in  Chinese  characters,  black  and  sprawling,  on  a  red 
label;  and  at  one  whose  paper  name-plate  was  peeling  off, 
Angela's  companion  stopped.  "Li  Hung  Sun;  we  makee 


THE  DOOR  WITH  THE  RED  LABEL      243 

visit,"  she  announced,  and  opened  the  door  without 
knocking. 

Angela  had  seen  furniture  packing  cases  as  big  as  that 
room,  and  extremely  like  it.  On  one  of  the  wooden  walls, 
above  a  bunk  which  took  up  nearly  half  the  space,  were  a 
rough  shelf  and  a  few  cheap,  Chinese  panel  pictures  and 
posters.  Beside  the  bunk,  and  exactly  the  same  height 
from  the  floor  with  its  ragged  strip  of  old  matting  was  a 
box,  in  use  as  a  table,  covered  with  black  oilcloth.  On  this 
were  grouped  some  toy  chairs  and  chests,  made  of  tiny 
seashells  pasted  on  cardboard;  a  vase  with  one  flower  in  it; 
a  miniature  mirror,  and  some  fetish  charms  and  photo- 
graphs, evidently  for  sale.  But  on  the  bunk  itself  lay  a 
thing  which  made  Angela  forget  all  the  surroundings.  A 
thin,  stabbing  pain  shot  through  her  heart,  as  if  it  had  been 
pricked  with  a  needle.  She  was  face  to  face  with  tragedy 
in  a  form  hardly  human;  and  though  her  plump  little  guide 
was  smiling,  Angela  wished  that  she  had  listened  to  Nick's 
advice.  For  here  was  something  never  to  be  forgotten, 
something  which  would  haunt  her  through  years  of  dark 
hours,  dreaming  or  waking.  She  knew  that  the  thought  of 
this  box  of  a  room  and  what  she  now  saw  in  it  would  come 
suddenly  to  darken  bright  moments,  as  the  sun  is  all  at 
once  overcast  by  a  black  thundercloud;  and  that  in  the 
midst  of  some  pleasure  she  would  find  herself  wondering  if 
the  idol-like  figure  still  lived  and  suffered. 

A  little  bag  of  bones  and  yellow  skin  that  once  had  been 
a  man  lay  on  the  wooden  bunk,  whose  hard  surface  was 
softened  only  by  a  piece  of  matting.  From  the  shrivelled 
face  a  pair  of  eyes  looked  up;  deep-set,  utterly  tragic, 
utterly  resigned.  The  face  might  have  been  on  earth  for 


244  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

sixty  or  seventy  years  perhaps.  But  the  eyes  were  as  old 
as  the  world,  neither  bright  nor  dull,  yet  wise  with  a 
terrible  wisdom  far  removed  from  joy  or  sorrow.  The 
shrivelled  shell  of  a  body  was  a  mere  prison  for  a  soul  to 
which  torture  and  existence  had  become  inseparable,  and 
almost  equally  unimportant. 

"Oh,  we  ought  not  to  come  in!"  Angela  exclaimed  in- 
voluntarily, on  the  threshold  of  this  secret. 

The  weary  face  faintly  smiled,  with  a  smile  like  a  dim 
gleam  of  light  flickering  over  the  features  of  a  mummy. 

"Come  in.  Many  people  come  see  me,"  said  a  voice  as 
old  as  the  eyes,  and  sad  with  the  fatal  sadness  that  has 
forgotten  hope.  It  was  a  very  small,  weak  voice,  almost 
like  a  voice  heard  at  the  other  end  of  a  long-distance 
telephone,  and  it  spoke  excellent  English. 

Silently  Angela  obeyed;  and  seeing  a  broken,  cane- 
seated  chair  which  she  had  not  noticed  before,  dropped 
into  it  as  the  low  voice  asked  her  to  sit  down.  She  was 
not  afraid  now,  but  sadness  gripped  her. 

"You  wish  see  me  smoke  opium,  lady?"  the  old  man 
asked,  his  tone  monotonous,  devoid  of  interest,  his  face  a 
mask.  The  light  of  a  tallow  candle  flared  into  his  eyes, 
and  wavered  over  his  egg-shaped  head,  which  was  entirely 
bald  save  for  its  queue. 

"Oh,  no,"  Angela  answered,  horrified,  "I  beg  you 
won't  smoke  for  me!" 

"Not  for  you,"  he  said.  "I  smoke  all  times.  I  must 
now.  If  not,  I  suffer  too  much.  It  is  the  smoking  keeps 
me  alive.  I  cannot  eat,  or  only  a  little.  My  throats  shuts 
up.  But  when  I  smoke,  for  a  few  minutes  after  I  am 
happy.  Then  I  wait  a  while,  and  bimeby  I  smoke  again." 


THE  DOOR  WITH  THE  RED  LABEL      245 

"  Surely  —  surely  —  you  can't  smoke  opium  all  day  and 
all  night?"  Angela  murmured,  her  lips  dry.  She  seemed 
to  know  what  he  felt,  and  to  feel  it  with  him.  It  was  a 
dreadful  sensation,  that  physical  knowledge,  racking  her 
nerves  like  a  phase  of  nightmare. 

"Nearly  all  day  and  all  night,  for  I  do  not  sleep  much; 
perhaps  two  hours  in  twenty -four.  Once,  a  long  time  ago, 
the  opium  made  me  sleep.  I  had  nice  dreams.  Now  it 
makes  me  wide  awake.  But  I  do  not  suffer,  only  for  a  few 
minutes.  When  it  gets  too  bad,  I  begin  again." 

"What  is  it  like  —  the  suffering?"  Angela  hah*  whis- 
pered. 

"  Cramps,  and  aching  in  my  bones.  Maybe  you  never 
had  a  toothache  —  you  are  too  young.  But  it  is  like  that 
all  over  my  body.  I  wish  to  die  then.  And  I  will  before 
long.  The  death  will  not  hurt  much  if  I  keep  on  smoking. 
My  heart  will  stop,  that  is  all.  It  will  give  me  a  chance  to 
begin  again." 

"In  another  world  —  yes,"  said  Angela.  "But  — 
couldn't  you  stop  smoking?  Take  medicine  of  some  sort 
—  have  treatment  from  a  doctor " 

"Too  late,  long  time  ago,"  he  answered,  with  a  calm, 
fatal  smile.  But  his  eyes  lit  with  a  faint  spark  of  anticipa- 
tion, and  his  cheeks  worked  with  a  slight  twitching  of  the 
nerves,  for,  as  he  talked,  in  short  sentences,  he  was  quietly 
rolling  and  cooking  his  dose  of  opium.  Into  a  large  pipe, 
which  looked  to  Angela  like  a  queer,  enormous  flute  with 
a  metal  spout  halfway  down  its  length,  he  pushed  a  pill 
he  had  rolled,  ramming  it  in  with  a  long  pin,  and  cooking 
it  hi  the  flame  of  a  small  spirit  lamp.  He  did  not  speak 
again  until  he  had  pulled  strenuously  at  the  pipe  a  few 


246  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

times.  Then  he  went  on  talking,  his  face  unchanged,  unless 
it  appeared  rather  fuller,  less  seamed  with  the  wrinkles  of 
intense  nerve  strain. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "that  is  all  I  do.  I  was  in  a  good 
deal  of  pain,  but  I  am  used  to  it.  Now  I'm  contented  for 
a  few  minutes.  While  I  have  this  happiness,  I  feel  willing 
to  pay  the  price.  But  it  is  a  big  price.  I  warn  the  young 
men  who  come  to  see  me  not  to  begin  opium  smoking. 
It  is  so  easy.  You  think  you  will  try,  to  find  out  what  it  is 
like;  and  then  you  will  stop.  But  you  do  not  stop.  Four 
weeks  —  six  weeks  —  and  it  is  finished  for  you.  You  are  on 
the  road  where  I  am.  That  was  the  way  with  me.  It  is 
the  way  with  every  one  who  starts  on  that  road  and  goes 
not  back  before  the  turn.  Better  not  start,  for  the  dreams 
are  too  good  at  first." 

His  resignation  to  the  chains  forged  by  himself  seemed 
to  Angela  the  saddest  part  of  all.  He  was  beyond  help, 
and  knew  it,  did  not  even  think  of  it. 

She  had  a  strange  burning  behind  her  eyes,  as  she 
listened,  though  she  was  not  inclined  to  cry. 

"It  is  awful,"  she  whispered.  "Such  days  —  such 
nights  —  such  years.  But  —  you  do  not  lie  here  always  ? ' ' 

"Most  of  the  time,"  he  answered,  the  little  spark  of 
physical  contentment  beginning  to  dim  in  his  eyes  al- 
ready. "I  am  very  weak.  I  do  not  walk,  except  when  I 
go  down  the  passage  to.cook  a  little  coffee  once  a  day.  Or 
sometimes  I  crawl  out  in  the  sun.  But  soon  I  come  back. 
I  can  stand  only  a  few  minutes.  I  am  too  light  in  the  head, 
when  I  get  on  my  feet.  When  I  was  young  I  was  tall  and 
large.  But  a  man  shrinks  small  after  the  opium  gets 
him." 


THE  DOOR  WITH  THE  RED  LABEL      247 

"How  you  must  regret!"  Angela  sighed. 

"I  do  not  know.  Why  regret  when  it  is  too  late?  I 
regret  that  it  is  hard  to  find  opium.  It  is  forbidden 
now,  and  very  dear.  I  sell  the  cleanings  of  my  pipe  — 
the  yenshee,  we  call  it  —  so  I  keep  going." 

"How  can  you  bear  to  sell  to  others  what  has  ruined 
your  life?"  Angela  could  not  help  asking. 

"I  would  do  anything  now  to  have  opium,"  he  said 
calmly.  "  But  it  is  the  old  smokers  who  smoke  the  yen- 
shee, not  the  young  ones.  So  I  do  no  harm." 

Angela  sprang  up,  shuddering.  "Is  there  nothing  I 
can  do  to  help  you?"  she  pleaded,  her  eyes  turned  from 
him,  as  he  began  to  cook  another  pill. 

"You  can  buy  something  I  sell.  That  will  help.  Do 
you  like  this?"  And  he  pointed  to  a  little  painted  china 
group  of  three  monkeys,  one  of  which  covered  its  ears, 
another  its  eyes,  and  the  third  its  mouth.  "You  know 
what  it  means?  'See  no  evil,  hear  no  evil,  speak  no  evil/ 
It  is  the  motto  of  our  people." 

"Yes  —  I'll  buy  that.  It's  a  good  motto,"  Angela 
stammered.  Taking  up  the  little  figures,  she  laid  a  five- 
dollar  gold  piece  on  the  box  table,  knowing  only  too  well 
what  it  would  buy. 

"You  wish  to  see  me  smoke  this  other  pipe?"  and  he 
put  it  to  his  toothless  mouth. 

"No  —  I  can't  bear  it." 

She  pushed  past  the  Chinese  girl,  hardly  knowing  what 
she  did.  She  felt  faint  and  sick,  as  if  she  must  have  fresh 
air.  As  her  hand  fumbled  for  the  latch,  the  door  was 
pushed  violently  open,  and  Billiard  came  in,  with  Scher- 
merhorn  at  his  back. 


248  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"  Thank  Heaven ! "  Nick  stammered.     He  was  very  pale. 

"You  gave  us  a  pretty  bad  scare,  Miss,"  added  the  man, 
who  had  been  informed  that  Nick  was  "not  her  husband." 

"  Lucky  I  thought  of  this  house,  and  this  old  chap." 

"But  —  there  was  no  danger,"  Angela  defended  herself. 
"Nothing  could  have  happened." 

"Most  anything  can  happen  —  in  Chinatown,"  mum- 
bled Scheraierhorn.  "Did  you  ever  read  a  story  by 
Norris  called  The  Third  Circle  ?" 

"Not  yet,"  said  Angela.  "I  bought  the  book, 
but " 

"Well,  read  that  story  when  you  get  home  to-night, 
Miss,  and  maybe  you'll  know  what  your  young  gentle- 
man here  went  through." 

Her  "young  gentleman!"  But  Angela  did  not  smile. 
A  thing  would  have  had  to  be  very  funny  to  strike  her  as 
laughable  just  then. 

"No,  don't  read  it  to-night,"  said  Nick.  "Wait 
till  another  time." 

"  Will  you  forgive  me?  "  she  asked,  looking  at  him.  "  I'm 
so^ry.  I  didn't  suppose  you'd  mind  much." 

"I  was  in  —  Hades  for  a  few  minutes,  "  said  Nick, 
hastily  qualifying  the  remark  he  had  been  about  to  make. 


XXI 
"WHO  IS  MRS.   MAY?" 

ONLY  one  letter  had  Nick  written  to  Carmen  Gaylor  — 
the  one  he  had  promised  to  write,  telling  her  of  his  arrival 
in  New  York;  that  he  was  "pretty  lonely,  and  didn't 
know  how  long  he  could  stand  for  seeing  no  home  sights.'* 
It  never  occurred  to  him  to  write  again;  and  Carmen  was 
not  surprised  at  his  remissness.  She  knew  that  Nick  was 
not  the  sort  of  man  who  likes  to  write  letters  or  can  put 
his  feelings  upon  paper.  But  when  she  received  her 
invitation  to  visit  Rushing  River  Camp,  she  could  have 
sung  for  joy. 

"We  are  hoping  that  an  old  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Nickson 
Hilliard,  may  be  with  us  when  you  come;  as  well  as  Miss 
Dene,  the  authoress,"  Mrs.  Harland  said  in  her  note. 
And  Carmen  believed  that  she  had  Hilliard  to  thank  for  the 
compliment  paid  her  by  Falconer  and  his  sister. 

She  knew  that  he  had  met  Falconer  and  admired  him; 
and  putting  two  and  two  together,  she  fancied  that  al- 
ready Nick  must  have  come  West,  meaning  to  surprise 
her  by  his  sudden  appearance;  that  he  had  fallen  in  with 
Mrs.  Harland  and  Falconer  on  the  journey,  perhaps 
been  invited  by  them,  and  suggested,  or  at  least  hinted, 
that  she  should  be  asked  to  join  the  house-party  at  the 
same  time. 

249 


250  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Otherwise,  I  don't  believe  they'd  ever  have  thought  of 
me,"  she  told  herself,  with  a  humility  which  would  have 
had  an  element  of  sulkiness  if  she  had  not  been  half  out 
of  her  wits  with  happiness  over  the  idea  that  Nick  was 
near,  and  wanting  her.  If  he  had  not  wanted  her,  he 
would  not  have  schemed  to  have  her  with  him  at  Rushing 
River  Camp. 

All  the  anxieties  and  suspicions  of  the  past  weeks  were 
forgotten.  She  telegraphed  her  acceptance,  and  began 
thinking  what  to  wear  during  the  visit.  She  admitted  in 
her  mind  that  Mrs.  Harland  was  a  "bigger  swell"  than 
she,  and  knew  more  of  the  world  and  Society.  But  she 
determined  that  the  hostess  should  not  outdo  her  guest  in 
the  way  of  "smart"  dresses,  hats,  and  jewellery. 

Carmen  broke  her  journey  at  San  Francisco,  staying 
there  two  days  at  the  Palace  Hotel.  On  the  first  of  these 
days,  as  it  happened,  Nick  and  Angela  motored  to  Mount 
Hamilton,  and  stayed  late  at  the  Lick  Observatory.  On 
the  second  day  they  went  to  Mount  Tamalpais,  lunching 
at  the  delightful  "tavern"  on  the  mountain- top,  and 
rushing  madly  down  the  wondrous  steeps  at  sunset,  hi  the 
little  "gravity  car"  guided  by  the  landlord. 

So  it  was  that  Carmen  got  no  chance  glimpse  of  the 
two  together,  and  had  no  suspicion  that  in  the  hotel  regis- 
ter of  the  St.  Francis  was  inscribed  the  name  of  Nickson 
Hilliard.  She  shopped  contentedly,  and  enjoyed  looking 
at  the  prettily  dressed  women,  because  she  saw  none  whom 
she  thought  as  good-looking  as  herself.  Then,  on  the 
second  evening,  just  as  Angela  and  Nick  were  tearing  down 
the  rocky  height  known  familiarly  to  San  Francisco  as 
"the  mountain,"  Carmen  left  for  Shasta  Springs. 


"WHO  IS  MRS.  MAY?"  251 

It  was  early  next  morning  after  the  long  journey  north, 
that  the  white  pinnacle  of  Mount  Shasta  appeared  floating 
in  the  sky  above  dark  pines,  and  the  rushing  stream  of  the 
Sacramento,  fed  by  eternal  snows.  But  Carmen  hardly 
glanced  out  of  her  stateroom  window  at  the  hovering 
white  glory,  though  her  maid  mentioned  that  Shasta  was 
in  sight.  Mrs.  Harland  and  Falconer  were  both  coming  to 
meet  her  at  the  Springs  station,  and  would  motor  her  to 
Rushing  River  Camp  by  the  fifty-mile  road  over  the 
mountains.  Carmen  hoped  that  Nick  might  be  with  them, 
though  nothing  had  been  said  about  him  in  the  telegram 
they  had  sent.  In  any  case,  her  one  care  was  to  be  beauti- 
ful after  the  night  journey.  She  took  no  interest  in  moun- 
tains and  rivers.  Her  whole  soul  was  concentrated  upon 
the  freshness  of  her  complexion  and  the  angle  of  the  mauve 
hat  on  her  dark  waved  hair.  Never  a  good  sleeper,  she 
had  been  too  feverish  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  Nick  to  do 
more  than  doze  off  for  a  few  minutes  in  her  berth;  con- 
sequently, there  were  annoying  brown  shadows  under  her 
eyes,  and  her  cheeks  looked  a  little  sallow;  but  Mariette 
was  an  accomplished  maid,  who  had  been  with  Carmen 
ever  since  the  old  theatrical  days,  and  when  Mrs.  Gaylor 
was  ready  to  leave  her  stateroom  at  Shasta  Springs  station 
she  looked  as  bright-eyed  and  rosy  as  if  she  had  slept  with- 
out dreaming.  This  effect  was  partly  due  to  liquid  rouge 
and  bismuth,  but  largely  to  happy  excitement  —  a 
woman's  greatest  beautifier. 

Her  heart  was  beating  fast  under  embroidered,  dove- 
coloured  chiffon  and  pale  gray  Shantung,  a  dress  too 
elaborate  for  a  railway  journey;  and  she  had  no  eyes  for 
the  fairylike  greenness  of  the  place,  the  mountain-side 


252  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

shadowed  by  tall  trees,  or  rocks  clothed  in  delicate  ferns 
and  spouting  forth  white  cascades.  The  full,  rich  summer 
she  had  left  at  home  in  the  South  was  early  spring  in  the 
cool  North.  The  earth  was  like  a  bride,  displaying  her 
trousseau  of  lace,  fall  after  fall  of  it,  on  green  velvet 
cushions,  and  the  gold  of  her  dowry,  the  splendour  of  her 
wedding  gifts,  in  a  riot  of  flowers.  No  money  corned  in 
mints  could  buy  diamonds  such  as  this  bride  had  been 
given  by  her  mother  —  Nature;  diamonds  flashing  in  river 
and  cascade  upon  cascade.  But  Carmen  Gaylor  had  no 
eyes  for  them.  She  had  merely  a  pleasant  impression  that 
Shasta  Springs  seemed  to  be  a  pretty  place,  and  no  wonder 
it  was  popular  with  millionaires,  who  built  themselves 
houses  up  there  on  the  height,  in  the  forest!  But  it  was 
only  a  passing  thought,  as  he  alighted  from  the  train  in  the 
welcoming  music  of  many  waters,  which  she  hardly  heard. 
Her  attention  was  centred  on  picking  out  Mrs.  Harland  and 
Falconer  among  the  people  who  were  waiting  to  meet 
friends,  and  on  seeing  whether  Nick  Hilliard  was  with  them. 

There  was  a  crowd  on  the  platform.  Pretty  "summer 
girls"  with  bare  heads,  over  which  they  held  parasols  of 
bright  green,  or  rose-red,  that  threw  charming  lights  and 
shadows  on  their  tanned  faces:  brown  young  men  in  khaki 
knickerbockers,  shaking  hands  with  paler  men  just  coming 
from  town,  and  little  children  in  white,  laughing  at  sight  of 
arriving  "daddies." 

Soon  Falconer,  towering  over  most  others,  appeared 
with  his  sister  by  his  side,  and  Carmen  was  pleased  to  see 
that  Mrs.  Harland's  clothes  could  not  compare  with  hers. 
Having  no  idea  of  suiting  her  costume  to  the  country,  she 
thought  herself  infinitely  preferable  in  her  Paris  gown  to 


"WHO  IS  MRS.  MAY?"  253 

Mrs.  Borland  in  a  cotton  frock,  and  shady  straw  hat.  But 
no  Nick  was  visible,  and  Carmen's  pleasure  was  dashed. 

The  brother  and  sister  met  her  cordially,  took  her  to 
look  at  the  bubbling  spring  in  its  kiosk,  and  then  up  the 
height  on  the  scenic  railway.  Presently  they  landed  on  the 
level  of  the  parklike  plateau,  where  a  big  hotel  and  its 
attendant  cottages  were  visible,  with  many  golden  dolo- 
mitic  peaks  and  great  white  Shasta  itself  peeping  through 
the  trees.  Still  nothing  had  been  said  about  Nick;  and 
Carmen  dared  not  ask.  She  feared  some  disappoint- 
ment, and  shrank  from  the  blow. 

Mariette  had  brought  coffee  to  her  mistress's  stateroom 
very  early,  but  Carmen  was  not  averse  to  the  suggestion 
of  breakfast  at  the  hotel  before  motoring  over  the  moun- 
tains. As  they  ate,  they  talked  of  impersonal  things:  the 
colony  under  the  trees;  the  making  of  the  mountain  road; 
and  Falconer  told  how  Mount  Shasta  —  long  ago  named 
by  Indians  "  Iska,  the  White"  —  was  the  abode  of  the 
Great  Spirit;  and  how,  in  old,  old  times,  before  the  Indians, 
the  sole  inhabitants  of  the  country  were  grizzly  bears. 
Carmen  listened  to  the  unfolding  of  the  tale  into  a  fantastic 
love-story,  saying,  "Oh!"  or  "How  interesting!"  at  polite 
intervals.  Always  she  asked  herself,  "Where's  Nick? 
Hasn't  he  come  yet?  Is  it  possible  he's  been  prevented 
from  coming  at  all?"  She  tried  to  brace  herself  against 
disappointment  and  not  show  that  she  cared,  but  she 
turned  red  and  white  when  Mrs.  Harland  said  at  last, 
"  We're  so  sorry  Mr.  Hilliard  couldn't  be  with  us.  We 
both  like  him  so  much,  and  it  would  have  been  very  nice 
to  have  him  too,  while  you  are  at  Rushing  River  Camp." 

"  Oh,  he  couldn't  come ! "  Carmen  echoed  dully. 


254  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"No.  Isn't  it  too  bad?  We  thought  you'd  know  — 
that  he  might  have  written " 

"Perhaps  he  has,  and  I've  missed  the  letter,"  Carmen 
broke  in,  hating  to  let  these  strangers  think  her  slighted 
by  Hilliard.  "  I've  been  in  San  Francisco  two  days. 
But  —  where  is  he?  On  his  way  home?" 

"I  don't  quite  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Harland,  rather 
evasively,  it  seemed.  And  then  she  changed  the  subject. 

Carmen  had  never  seen  anything  like  that  winding  road 
over  the  mountains,  with  the  white,  phantom  glimpses  of 
Shasta  at  every  forest  turning.  Falconer's  big  automo- 
bile, which  he  kept  at  the  "Camp,"  ran  up  the  steep 
gradients  without  appearing  to  know  that  they  existed, 
and  Carmen  strove  to  be  cheerful,  to  look  as  if  she  were 
enjoying  the  drive.  But  her  heart  was  a  lump  of  ice, 
though  she  talked  and  laughed  a  great  deal,  telling  Mrs. 
Harland  about  the  rich  or  important  people  she  knew, 
instead  of  drinking  in  the  sweet  air,  and  giving  her  eyes  to 
the  wild  loveliness.  It  was  bad  enough  that  Nick  was 
not  coming,  but  the  air  of  reserve  or  uneasiness  with  which 
Mrs.  Harland  had  said,  "I  don't  quite  know,"  touched  the 
situation  with  mystery.  She  realized  that,  if  there  were 
anything  to  hide,  she  would  not  find  it  out  from  her  host 
or  hostess;  but  when  on  the  veranda  of  the  glorified  log- 
house  overhanging  the  river  she  saw  Theo  Dene,  Carmen 
instantly  said  to  herself  with  conviction,  "If  she  knows, 
I'll  get  it  out  of  her!" 

And  seeing  Miss  Dene  at  Rushing  River  Camp  she  was 
almost  inclined  to  be  glad  that  Nick  was  not  there.  She 
admired  Theo's  splendid  red  hair  and  dazzling  skin.  She 
saw  that,  though  the  young  woman's  clothes  were  simple, 


"WHO  IS  MRS.  MAY?"  255 

their  simplicity  was  Parisian  and  expensive;  and  she  saw 
also  that  Theo  was  a  flirt  —  a  "man-eater,"  as  she  put  it 
to  herself,  her  dark  eyes  meeting  the  green  eyes  in  a  first 
understanding  glance. 

Miss  Dene  was  far  from  unwilling  to  be  pumped.  In 
fact,  she  meant  to  be  pumped;  and  that  afternoon,  while 
Mrs.  Harland  was  writing  letters  and  Falconer  was  with 
his  secretary,  whom  he  could  not  escape  even  in  the 
country,  she  invited  Mrs.  Gaylor  to  sit  with  her  on  the 
broad  veranda,  beneath  which  the  river  ran  singing  a 
never-ending  song. 

The  two  pretty  women,  the  one  dark  the  other  fair,  made 
a  charming  picture,  and  neither  was  oblivious  of  the  fact; 
but  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  Carmen  that  her  self- 
appreciation  might  be  put  into  words.  However,  she 
laughed  when  Theo  said: 

"What  a  shame  there  aren't  any  men  to  admire  us! 
We're  both  looking  too  adorable,  aren't  we?  I  should 
love  to  snapshot  you  in  that  Indian  hammock,  though  the 
picture  would  lose  a  lot  without  colour.  And  it's  very  un- 
kind of  you  if  you  wouldn't  like  to  have  a  picture  of  me 
in  my  green  rocking-chair  on  the  scarlet  rug." 

This  gave  Carmen  a  chance  to  touch  upon  the  subject 
in  her  heart  without,  as  she  thought,  arousing  any  suspicion. 

"You  look  awfully  pretty,"  she  said;  "and  this  balcony 
is  lovely,  hanging  over  the  river.  It's  quite  different  from 
my  home;  though  mine's  nice,  too.  And  we  have  got 
one  man  —  Mr.  Falconer." 

"He's  engaged,"  said  Theo. 

"Oh,  is  he?  I  didn't  know  that.  Well,  and  Mr. 
Hilliard  will  come,  perhaps.  Have  you  met  him?" 


£56  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Yes,"  replied  Theo  promptly;  "at  Santa  Barbara. 
He  was  motoring  with  Mrs.  May.  I  thought  him  one  of 
the  handsomest  men  I  ever  saw.  But  I'm  afraid  he  isn't 
coming.  She  isn't  either  —  of  course." 

Carmen's  face  crimsoned;  then  her  colour  died  away 
and  left  her  sickly  white,  all  but  the  little  pink  spots  of 
rouge  she  had  put  on  in  the  morning. 

"  Motoring  with  Mrs.  May ! "  she  repeated,  harshly,  then 
controlled  her  voice  by  a  violent  effort.  "Was  Mrs.  May 
expected  here?" 

"  Was  expected,"  Theo  echoed  with  emphasis.  She  was 
enjoying  herself  thoroughly;  literally  enjoying  "herself." 
This  was  almost  as  good  as  if  Hilliard  had  not  refused 
the  invitation  and  Angela  had  not  basely  slipped  out  of 
the  engagement  after  practically  accepting.  "She  won't 
come.  I  suppose  she  thinks  she's  having  more  fun  where 
she  is.  Though  if  Mr.  Hilliard  had  come  I  haven't  the 
ghost  of  a  doubt  that  she  would.  Do  you  know  Mr. 
Hilliard  well?" 

This  in  a  tone  as  innocent  as  that  of  a  little  child  talking 
of  its  dolls. 

"Pretty  well,"  answered  Carmen,  moistening  her  lips. 
"Who  is  Mrs.  May?  I  heard  of  her  once.  She's  a  friend 
of  the  Morehouses." 

"She's  a  new  importation,"  replied  Theo  lightly.  "So 
far  as  I  can  make  out,  she  and  Mr.  Hilliard  met  in  New 
York." 

"Is  she  — pretty?" 

"Yes,  very.  Fair  hair  and  gray  eyes  that  look  dark. 
Mourning  is  becoming  to  her." 

"Is  she  a  widow?" 


"WHO  IS  MRS.  MAY?"  257 

"She  —  gives  that  impression,"  Miss  Dene  smiled. 
This  Carmen  Gaylor  was  like  a  beautiful,  fiery  thunder- 
cloud. Teasing  her  was  delightful.  Theo  felt  as  if  she 
were  in  a  play.  It  was  a  dreadful  waste  of  good  material 
not  to  have  an  audience.  But  she  would  "use  the  scene" 
afterward.  She  remembered  hearing  a  great  actress  tell 
how  she  visited  hospitals  for  consumptives,  and  even  ran 
up  to  Davos  one  winter,  when  she  was  preparing  to  play 
La  Dame  aux  Camelias.  Theo  would  have  done  all  that 
if  she  had  been  an  actress.  She  was  fond  of  realism  in 
every  form,  and  did  not  stick  at  gruesomeness. 

"A  grass  widow?"  exclaimed  Carmen  eagerly. 

Theo  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Really,  I  can't  tell 
you." 

Carmen  supposed  that  she  knew  little  of  Mrs.  May,  and 
had  met  her  for  the  first  time  at  Santa  Barbara  with  Nick. 
With  Nick  —  motoring!  The  thought  gave  Carmen  a 
strange  sensation,  as  if  her  blood  had  turned  to  little  cold, 
sharp  crystals  freezing  in  her  veins. 

"Not  very  young,  I  suppose?"  she  hazarded,  her  lips 
so  dry  that  she  had  to  touch  them  with  her  tongue.  But 
that  was  dry,  too. 

"Oh,  about  twenty-three  or  four,  and  looks  nineteen." 

There  was  no  hope,  then!  Nick  was  with  a  woman, 
beautiful,  young,  presumably  a  widow,  and  evidently  in 
love  with  him,  as  Miss  Dene  said  that  she  would  be  here 
at  Rushing  River  Camp  if  Nick  had  come.  A  deadly  sick- 
ness caught  Carmen  by  the  throat.  Her  love  for  Nick  was 
one  with  her  life,  and  had  been  for  years.  Always  she  had 
believed  that  some  day  she  would  be  happy  with  Nick, 
would  have  him  for  her  own.  Anything  else  would  be  im- 


258  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

possible  —  too  bad  to  be  true.  Even  when  he  went  East 
without  asking  her  to  marry  him,  though  she  was  free,  she 
had  assured  herself  that  he  loved  her.  Had  he  not  as  much 
as  said  that  the  anniversary  of  her  husband's  death  was 
not  a  lucky  night  to  choose  for  love-making?  Carmen  had 
made  certain  that  she  was  the  only  woman  in  Nick's  life; 
and  he  had  laughed  when  she  hinted  that  "some  lovely 
lady"  might  persuade  him  to  stay  in  New  York. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  May  now?"  she  asked  sharply,  past 
caring  much  whether  or  no  Miss  Dene  saw  her  agony. 

"In  San  Francisco  —  unless  she's  gone  to  the  Yosemite 
Valley  with  Mr.  Billiard." 

"With  him!  Why  should  she  go  everywhere  with 
him?" 

Theo  laughed.  "  Because  she  likes  his  society,  I  suppose , 
and  he  likes  hers.  He  is  supposed  to  be  her  unpaid,  ama- 
teur guide,  I  believe,  and  she  trots  her  maid  about  with  her, 
to  play  propriety.  Also  a  cat.  Don't  you  think  a  black 
cat  a  charmingly  original  chaperon?" 

Carmen  did  not  answer.  Anguish  and  rage  in  her  heart 
were  like  vitriol  dashed  on  a  raw  wound.  No  wonder  Nick 
had  not  written !  And  she  had  been  happy,  and  trusting, 
while  he  forgot  his  debt  of  gratitude,  and  ignoring  her 
existence,  travelled  about  the  country  with  another  woman- 
Only  this  morning  Carmen  had  dreamed  of  meeting  him 
here,  and  that  he  had  asked  for  her  invitation,  as  a  favour 
to  himself.  She  could  have  screamed,  and  torn  her  flesh,  in 
agony.  She  suffered  too  much.  Some  one  else  would 
have  to  pay  for  this !  Nick  would  have  to  pay,  and  that 
woman,  that  love  pirate  sailing  from  strange  seas  to  steal 
the  treasure  of  others. 


"WHO  IS  MRS.  MAY?"  259 

Her  one  uncontrollable  impulse  was  to  go  and  find  them 
both,  to  do  something  to  part  them,  she  did  not  know  what 
yet,  but  inspiration  would  come.  She  felt  unable  to  bear 
any  delay.  Somehow,  she  must  find  an  excuse  to  get  away 
from  this  place.  She  would  have  to  go  San  Francisco, 
or  perhaps  even  to  the  Yosemite  Valley,  and  find  Nick  and 
the  woman  together. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  she  might  contrive  to  telegraph 
to  Simeon  Harp,  telling  him  to  wire  her  that  something  had 
gone  wrong  on  the  ranch,  that  she  must  return  home  at 
once.  Mariette  could  find  out  how  to  send  telegrams  from 
here  —  there  was  sure  to  be  a  way  —  and  get  the  message 
off  in  secret. 

That  night  a  telegram  came  for  Mrs.  Gaylor,  anounc- 
ing  that  there  had  been  a  fire  on  the  ranch.  She  was  needed 
at  home.  She  showed  the  bit  of  paper  to  Mrs.  Har- 
land  and  Falconer,  and  there  was  much  sympathy  and 
regret  that  her  visit  must  be  broken  short. 

Next  morning  she  left,  having  been  but  twenty-four 
hours  at  Rushing  River  Camp.  And  late  that  night, 
she  arrived  in  San  Francisco.  But  she  was  in  no  hurry  to 
obey  the  summons  from  the  Gaylor  ranch. 


XXII 
THE  BOX  OF  MYSTERY 

AGAIN  Angela  was  expecting  Hilliard.  They  were  to 
dine,  and  then  she  and  Nick  and  Kate  and  the  cat  were 
going  by  tram  to  El  Porto,  the  gate  of  the  Yosemite 
Valley.  Angela  was  waiting  in  her  sitting-room,  as  on  that 
first  evening  there,  when  she  had  changed  one  decision  for 
another  all  in  a  moment;  but  now  she  was  in  travelling 
dress,  and  a  week  had  passed  since  that  other  night.  It 
had  been,  perhaps,  the  happiest  week  of  her  life;  but  the 
week  to  which  she  was  looking  forward  would  be  happier 
still.  Afterward,  of  course,  there  would  be  an  end.  For 
the  end  must  come.  She  was  clear-sighted  enough  to 
realize  that. 

As  she  thought  these  things  —  and  quickly  put  away  the 
thoughts,  since  nothing  must  spoil  this  hour  —  there  was 
a  rap  at  the  door,  and  she  went  to  throw  it  open,  confident 
that  she  would  see  Nick  smiling  at  her,  saying  in  his  nice 
voice,  "Well,  are  you  ready?" 

But  it  was  not  Nick.  A  bellboy  of  the  hotel  had  brought 
up  a  large  cardboard  box  which  had  arrived  by  post.  The 
address  was  printed:  "Mrs.  May,  Fairmont  Hotel,  San 
Francisco,"  and  there  were  several  stamps  upon  it;  but 
Angela  could  not  make  out  the  postmark.  She  found  a 
pair  of  scissors  and  cut  the  string.  The  box  was  tightly 

260 


THE  BOX  OF  MYSTERY  261 

packed  with  a  quantity  of  beautiful  foliage,  lovely  leaves 
shaped  like  oak  leaves,  and  of  bright  autumn  colours, 
purple,  gold,  and  crimson,  though  spring  had  hardly 
turned  to  summer. 

She  plunged  her  hands  into  the  box,  lifting  out  the 
gorgeous  mass,  looking  for  a  card  or  note,  but  finding  none. 
It  was  a  pity  that  this- mysterious  gift  had  arrived  just  as 
she  was  going  away.  However,  she  was  keeping  on  her 
rooms,  and  would  leave  instructions  with  the  chambermaid 
to  take  great  care  of  the  beauties. 

Some  one  else  was  tapping  at  the  door  now,  and  this  time 
it  was  Nick.  Angela's  hands  overflowed  with  their  bril- 
liant burden  as  she  called  aloud,  "Come  in!"  and  he  came 
with  the  very  words  she  had  expected:  "Well,  are  you 
ready?" 

But  they  died  on  his  lips,  and  it  seemed  to  her,  in  the 
waning  light,  that  his  face  grew  pale. 

"Drop  that  stuff,  quick,  Mrs.  May!" 

He  flung  the  words  at  her,  and  Angela,  bewildered  and 
amazed,  threw  down  the  coloured  leaves  as  if  a  tarantula 
hid  among  them. 

"Have  you  got  any  ammonia?"  Nick  asked  sharply. 

"Yes." 

"Go  wash  your  hands  in  it  while  I  use  your  telephone. 
Don't  be  frightened,  but  that's  poison-oak,  and  I  want  to 
prevent  it  from  hurting  you." 

"Can  it  —  kill  me? "      Her  face  quivered. 

"No.  And  it  shan't  do  you  any  harm  if  I  can  help  it. 
But  be  quick  as  you  can.  Keep  your  hands  in  the  basin 
till  I  get  what  I'm  sending  out  for." 

Without  another  word  Angela  ran  into  the  next  room, 


262  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

and  so  to  the  bath.  As  she  poured  ammonia  into  the  mar- 
ble basin,  feeling  a  little  faint,  she  could  hear  Nick's  voice 
at  the  telephone:  "Send  to  the  nearest  drug  store  for 
some  gamgee  tissue,  a  bundle  of  lint,  and  a  pint  bottle  of 
lime-water.  This  is  a  hurry  call." 

Angela's  heart  was  thumping.  It  was  horrible  that 
there  should  be  some  one  in  the  world — a  lurking,  myste- 
rious some  one  —  who  planned  in  secret  to  do  her  dreadful 
harm.  The  incident  seemed  unreal.  Whom  did  she  know, 
on  this  side  of  the  world,  who  could  hate  her  so  bitterly? 
She  was  afraid,  as  of  eyes  that  she  could  not  see,  staring 
through  the  dark. 

Nick  called  from  the  sitting-room:  "How  do  you  feel? 
Are  you  all  right?  "  And  when  she  answered  "  Yes,"  tried 
to  reassure  her.  It  began  to  look  as  if  there  were  much  to 
fear.  Luckily  he  had  come  in  time.  Was  she  sure  she 
hadn't  held  the  leaves  near  her  face?  No.  Then  she  might 
hope  that  there  would  be  no  trouble  now.  Already  he  had 
bundled  the  bunch  of  fire  into  a  newspaper  and  it  had  been 
taken  out  of  the  room  to  be  destroyed,  like  a  wicked  witch. 
Luckily  there  were  people  who  could  touch  poison-oak 
and  suffer  no  harm.  Nick  told  Angela  he  "felt  in  his 
bones"  that  no  evil  thing  could  have  power  over  her. 

Soon,  almost  before  she  could  have  believed  it  possible, 
the  messenger  arrived  with  a  strange  assortment  of  packets 
from  the  chemist.  Nick  shouted  that  all  was  ready,  and 
she  went  back  to  the  sitting-room,  her  hands  dripping 
ammonia.  Kate  had  been  summoned,  and  having  just 
appeared,  was  about  to  empty  a  large  flower  bowl,  which 
Nick  had  ordered  her  to  wash.  The  Irish  girl  was  pale,  and 
looked  dazed.  She  knew  nothing  yet  of  what  had  hap- 


THE  BOX  OF  MYSTERY  263 

pened,  but  guessed  at  some  mysterious  accident  to  her 
mistress. 

A  great  bouquet  of  roses  which  Nick  had  sent  that  morn- 
ing now  lay  on  a  side  table,  and  into  the  flower  bowl  they 
had  adorned  he  poured  the  lime-water.  In  this  he  soaked 
the  gamgee  tissue  (Angela  had  never  heard  of  the  stuff 
before) ,  and  bade  her  hold  out  both  hands.  Then  he  bound 
them  quickly  and  skilfully,  intent  on  what  he  was  doing, 
though  his  head  was  bent  closer  to  Angela's  than  it  had 
ever  been  before,  and  the  fragrance  of  her  hair  was  sweet, 
as  in  his  dreams  of  angels.  As  for  her,  she  felt  a  childlike 
confidence  in  his  ability  to  cure  her,  to  save  her  from  harm. 

Over  the  tissue,  wet  with  lime-water,  Nick  wrapped 
bandages  of  lint;  and  the  operation  finished,  Angela  was 
as  helpless  as  if  she  had  pulled  on  a  pair  of  tight,  thick 
gloves  whose  fingers  would  not  bend. 

"Does  this  mean  that  we  aren't  to  go  to-night?"  she 
asked  mournfully. 

"I  hope  it  doesn't  mean  that.  But  we  can't  be  dead 
certain  yet,"  answered  Nick.  He  looked  at  her  searchingly, 
his  face  drawn  and  anxious;  but  it  relaxed  as  if  he  were 
suddenly  relieved  from  some  great  strain  as  his  eyes 
travelled  over  the  smooth,  pure  features,  and  met  her 
questioning  gaze  at  last  with  assurance. 

"If  we  are  not  certain  soon,  it  will  be  too  late  to  start, 
and  I  can't  bear  to  put  off  going.  I'm  looking  forward  to 
the  trip  so  much!"  she  said.  "Shall  we  dine  here? 
You'll  have  to  feed  me,  I'm  afraid."  She  laughed;  but 
a  slow  flush  crept  up  to  Nick's  forehead. 

"Would  you  let  me?" 

"Yes.     Why    not?    If    you    don't    mind.    Anything 


264  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

rather  than  miss  our  train  —  unless  some  horrid  symptoms 
are  coming  on  that  you  haven't  the  courage  to  tell  me 
about.  Ring  for  dinner,  Kate.  And  you  can  go  and  have 
yours.  We'll  do  everything  exactly  as  if  we  expected  to 
start." 

"Sure,  ma'am,  don't  make  me  leave  the  room  till  I've 
heard  what  Mr.  Hijliard  has  to  say.  I'm  that  worried  till 
I  know  the  worst,"  Kate  pleaded. 

Angela  smiled.  "I'm  just  beginning  to  learn,"  she  said, 
"that  it's  a  mistake  to  think  of  the  worst.  I  used  to  make 
a  point  of  doing  it,  and  it  generally  happened.  Now  —  I 
expect  the  best ! "  She  spoke  to  Kate,  and  looked  at  Nick. 
"But  tell  me  what  poison-oak  can  do." 

Nick  shivered.  For  an  instant,  a  picture  of  that  adored 
young  face  hideously  disfigured  turned  him  sick.  And 
even  her  little  white  hands  —  no,  it  did  not  bear  thinking 
of!  But  he  controlled  himself  and  tried  to  speak  coolly. 

"Why,  it  affects  some  people  so  their  faces  and  hands 
swell  up,  and  —  and  get  red  and  spotted.  Of  course,  that 
doesn't  last  many  days:  but  —  it  isn't  nice  while  it  does 
last,  and  I  —  couldn't  bear  the  thought  of  its  happening 
to  you.  I  just  couldn't  bear  it !  It  isn't  going  to  happen, 
though, "  he  added  hastily,  seeing  the  colour  leave  her  lips. 
"  By  this  time  you'd  have  begun  to  feel  mighty  bad,  if  you 
were  in  for  trouble.  You  can't  be  easy  to  affect,  for  if  you 
were,  the  poison  might  have  gone  to  your  face,  without 
your  even  touching  the  leaves.  Your  hands  don't  burn, 
do  they?" 

"Only  a  little  —  from  the  ammonia." 

"  That  saved  them.  .  If  you  feel  all  right  in  an  hour  more, 
you  can  have  the  bandages  off,  and  the  danger'!!  be  over 


THE  BOX  OF  MYSTERY  265 

for  good.  Then  we  can  start,  unless  the  shock's  been  too 
much  for  you?" 

"I'm  too  bewildered  to  be  shocked,"  said  Angela. 
"Who  could  have  played  such  a  horrid  practical  joke  on 
me?  It'§  a  little  bit  like  —  in  a  ridiculous  way  —  the  play 
of  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  where  a  woman  is  poisoned  by  a 
bouquet  of  flowers  sent  by  a  jealous  rival.  Only  I  haven't 
a  jealous  rival!" 

Nick's  face  hardened.  "  I'm  going  to  find  out  who  did 
send  the  stuff.  While  you  were  in  the  other  room  I  was 
looking  at  the  wrapper  of  the  box.  I  can't  make  out  the 
postmark;  but  I  reckon  there  are  those  who  can,  and  I 
won't  rest  till  I  know." 

"What  can  you  do  to  find  out?"  asked  Angela. 

"I  can  put  the  best  detective  in  San  Francisco  on  to  the 
job.  He  shall  follow  up  the  clues  like  a  bloodhound,  and 
hang  on  to  them  when  he's  got  'em,  like  a  bulldog." 

"Oh,  but  don't  let's  put  off  our  journey!"  Angela 
exclaimed.  "  I  feel,  if  we  do  that,  we'll  never  go.  It  has 

always  "  she  half-whispered,  "seemed  too  good  to 

come  true/' 

"I'd  rather  do  'most  anything  than  put  off  the  trip," 
said  Nick.  "  But  there's  time  for  everything.  We  don't 
leave  the  hotel  till  after  nine.  Dinner  won't  be  ready  for 
a  bit;  and  if  you'll  let  me,  I'll  go  out  now  and  see  a  man 
I've  heard  of  —  a  very  smart  detective." 

But  Angela  begged  him  to  wait.  She  hated  the  thought 
of  being  left  alone  till  she  was  sure  that  no  ill  effect  need  be 
feared  from  the  poison.  So  Nick  stayed,  not  unwillingly, 
and  a  simple  dinner  was  ordered  in  haste. 

Kate  was  sure  that  after  what  had  happened  she  would 


266  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

have  no  appetite  for  dinner;  but,  like  a  true  Irish  girl, 
she  was  romantic  to  the  core  of  her  heart;  and  because 
she  was  deeply  in  love  with  her  Tun,  she  had  the  "seeing 
eye"  which  showed  her  clearly  what  was  hi  Nick  Hilliard's 
heart  for  Angela. 

Of  course,  he  was  not  good  enough  for  her  lady;  no  man 
could  be.  But  Kate  had  a  sneaking  kindness  for  Nick, 
the  splendid  giver  of  the  golden  bag,  and  would  not,  by 
offering  her  services  as  cutter-up-of-food  for  the  queen, 
rob  him  of  the  privilege. 

So  Kate  slipped  out  unobtrusively,  and  the  privilege 
in  question  became  Nick's.  It  was  a  joy,  even  a  delirious 
joy,  but  it  was  also  an  ordeal;  for  as  he  fed  her,  Angela 
smiled  at  him.  Each  time  that  he  proffered  a  spoonful  of 
soup  or  a  morsel  of  chicken  she  met  his  gaze  with  laughing 
eyes,  roguish,  under  dark  lashes,  as  the  eyes  of  a  child. 
The  difficulty  when  this  happened,  as  it  did  constantly, 
was  to  keep  hands  steady  and  mind  calm,  as  if  for  the  per- 
formance of  a  delicate  surgical  operation;  because  to 
drop  a  thing,  or  ami  it  wrongly,  would  have  been  black 
disgrace.  And  to  ensure  perfection  of  aim,  attention 
must  be  concentrated  upon  the  lady's  lips  as  she  opened 
them  to  receive  supplies.  It  was  to  watch  the  unfolding 
of  a  rosebud  into  a  rose  while  forbidden  to  touch  the 
rose.  And  even  monks  of  the  severest  brotherhoods  may 
pluck  the  flowers  that  grow  beside  their  cloisters. 

Nick  did  not  leave  Angela  until  Kate  had  come  back; 
then  he  and  the  Irish  girl  together  unwound  the  bandages. 
There  was  a  moment  of  suspense,  but  the  hands  were 
satin-smooth. 

"It  seems  to  be  written  that  you  shall  save  me  always 


THE  BOX  OF  MYSTERY  267 

from  horrors  —  ever  since  the  night  of  the  burglar,"  Angela 
said,  when  Kate  had  gone  to  the  next  room  to  dispose  of 
the  lint.  "I  shall  be  like  a  child  learning  to  walk  alone 
when  my  journeyings  with  you  come  to  an  end." 

There  was  his  chance  to  say,  "Must  they  come  to  an 
end?"  But  Kate  was  near;  and  besides,  a  snub  from 
Angela  might  stop  the  "journeyings"  then  and  there. 
So  he  answered  with  a  mere  compliment,  as  any  man 
may,  meaning  nothing  at  all  or  a  great  deal.  To  save 
her  from  danger,  it  was  worth  while  to  have  been  born, 
he  said.  And  he  remembered,  as  he  had  remembered  many 
times,  how  clear  had  been  the  call  he  had  heard  to  go 
East;  a  call  like  a  voice  in  his  ears,  crying,  "Nick,  I 
want  you.  Come."  He  was  tempted  to  be  superstitious, 
and  to  believe  that  unconsciously,  in  some  mysterious 
way,  Angela  had  summoned  him  to  be  her  knight.  To  be 
even  more,  perhaps,  in  the  end.  Who  could  tell  • —  yet? 

It  was  a  good  sign,  at  all  events,  that  she  was  reluctant 
to  give  up  the  trip;  and  Nick  decided  not  to  risk  confiding 
in  the  police.  Put  the  affair  of  the  poison-oak  into  their 
hands,  and  they  would  lasso  every  one  concerned,  with 
yards  of  red  tape !  In  that  case,  he  and  Mrs.  May  might 
be  detained  in  San  Francisco.  No!  A  private  detective 
would  do  the  trick;  and  Nick  had  the  name  of  one  pigeon- 
holed in  his  brain:  Max  Wisler,  a  shrewd  fellow,  once 
employed  with  success  by  "old  Grizzly  Gaylor"  when 
there  had  been  a  leakage  of  money  and  vanishing  of  cattle 
on  the  ranch.  Nick  went  in  search  of  Max  Wisler  now,  in  a 
taxi,  and  found  him  at  the  old  address;  a  queer  little 
frame  house,  in  a  part  of  San  Francisco  which  had  been 
left  untouched  by  the  great  fire. 


268  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Wisler  was  at  home,  and  remembered  Hilliard.  He  was 
fair  and  fat,  with  a  manner  somewhat  cold;  unlit  by 
enthusiasm;  yet  as  he  listened  a  gleam  flashed  out  from 
his  carefully  controlled  gray  eyes,  which  hinted  at  hidden 
fires.  He  heard  Nick  to  the  end  of  the  story,  in  silence, 
playing  always  with  the  leaves  of  a  book  which  he  had 
been  reading  —  a  volume  of  Fenimore  Cooper's.  Still  he 
went  on  fingering  the  pages  for  a  minute,  when  Hilliard 
paused  expecting  questions.  Then  he  looked  up  suddenly, 
seeming  literally  to  catch  Nick's  eye  and  hold  it  by 
force. 

"What  woman  is  jealous  of  this  lady  —  Mrs.  May?" 
he  asked. 

"I  don't  think  she  knows  any  woman  in  California, 
except  Mrs.  Falconer's  sister  —  and  a  Miss  Dene  from 
England,  an  authoress  who  is  travelling  about  with  Mrs. 
Harland  in  Falconer's  car." 

"Ah!  Mrs.  Harland's  out  of  the  running.  And  that 
Miss  Dene's  gone  East.  I  happened  to  see  her  start, 
yesterday.  She  had  a  collection  of  people  giving  her  a 
send-off.  Of  course,  she  could  have  employed  some  one 
else  to  do  the  job,  and  keep  out  of  the  way  herself  But  — 
I  guess  we  must  look  further.  Now  see  here,  Mr.  Hilliard, 
a  patient  has  got  to  be  frank  with  his  doctor  if  the  doctor's 
to  do  any  good.  Are  you  engaged  to  marry  Mrs.  Gaylor, 
the  widow  of  my  old  client?  " 

"Good  Lord,  no!"  exclaimed  Nick,  scarlet  to  his  fore- 
head. "Such  an  idea  never  entered  my  head." 

"Humph!  Rumour's  wrong,  then.  But  that  isn't  to 
say  it  never  entered  her  head.  Does  she  know  Mrs.  May?  " 

"No,"  said  Nick.     "Surely  you're  not  hinting  - 


THE  BOX  OF  MYSTERY  269- 

"I'm  not  hinting  anything.  I'm  feeling  my  way  in  the 
dark." 

"It  isn't  quite  dark.  You've  got  the  paper  that  was 
round  the  box.  I  saw  you  looking  at  it,  through  a  mag- 
nifying glass,  just  now." 

"That  postmark  means  the  longest  way  round 
that  we  can  take.  Do  you  think  any  one  with  an 
ounce  I  of  brains  would  send  poison  from  a  place  where 
she  —  or  he,  if  you  like  —  was  known?  No.  She 
—  or  he  —  would  go  a  long  way,  and  a  roundabout 
way.  Or  send  a  trusted  messenger.  Tell  me  straight, 
Mr.  Hilliard,  has  Mrs.  Gaylor  got  in  her  employ  a  confi- 
dential maid,  or  man?" 

Nick,  distressed  and  embarrassed,  angry  with  the  de- 
tective, yet  unwilling  to  offend  and  put  him  off  his  work, 
knew  not  what  to  answer.  There  was  Simeon  Harp,  of 
course,  who  would  do  anything  for  Carmen.  But  Nick 
could  not,  would  not,  play  into  Wisler's  hands  by  mention- 
ing the  name  of  Harp,  or  telling  of  the  old  man's  doglike 
devotion  to  his  mistress.  It  was  a  detestable  and  vulgar 
suggestion  which  connected  Mrs.  Gaylor  with  this  affair  — 
detestable  for  every  one  concerned;  for  Carmen,  for  Nick; 
above  all,  for  Angela. 

"Mrs.  Gaylor  hasn't  a  servant  who  isn't  loyal,"  he  re- 
turned at  last,  evading  Wisler's  eye.  "But  you'd  better 
get  this  notion  out  of  your  mind,  to  start  with,  or  you'll 
find  yourself  on  the  wrong  track.  Mrs.  Gaylor  and  I 
are  good  friends,  no  more.  She  doesn't  know  anything 
about  Mrs.  May;  and  if  she  did,  there's  nothing  to  make  her 
jealous,  even  if  —  if  we  were  warmer  friends  than  we  are.'* 

"Sure  she  never  heard  of  the  lady?" 


270  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Nick  hesitated.  "I  don't  see  how  she  can  have  heard. 
I  haven't  written  to  her  since  I  —  met  Mrs.  May." 

"Ah,  you  haven't  written  to  her  since  then.  H'm! 
Does  Mrs.  Gaylor  know  Mr.  Falconer  and  his  sister,  and 
then'  authoress  friend  Miss  Dene?" 

"Not  Miss  Dene.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  heard  Miss 
Dene  say  she'd  like  to  meet  Mrs.  Gaylor.  She  asked 
questions  about  her.  But  that's  nothing." 

"Perhaps  they've  been  visiting  back  and  forth  since 
then." 

"If  they  have,  it  hasn't  come  to  my  knowledge." 

"Women  do  a  lot  of  things  that  don't  come  to  men's 
knowledge.  That's  one  reason  detectives  exist.  Well, 
you  don't  seem  much  inclined  to  help  me,  Mr.  Hilliard, 
though  you  say  you're  anxious  to  get  to  the  bottom  of 
this  little  mystery  as  soon  as  possible." 

"I  am  anxious.  And  if  I  don't  help  you,  it's  because  I 
can't.  I  don't  want  you  to  lose  yourself  in  the  woods,  and 
have  to  find  your  way  back,  to  begin  all  over  again." 

"No.  I  don't  want  that,  either,"  said  Wisler,  smiling 
his  slow  smile.  "It's  a  long  time  since  I  got  lost  in  the 
woods,  and  I'll  do  my  best  not  to  lose  my  reckoning  this 
time.  I  must  worry  along  without  you,  I  see.  But  I'm 
not  discouraged.  When  you've  finished  up  this  trip  that 
you  seem  to  think  so  important,  I  may  have  news  for  you, 
of  one  kind  or  another." 

Nick  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  time  to  go  back  to 
the  Fairmount  if  he  meant  to  take  Angela  away  that  night. 


'xxin 

THE  HAPPY  VALLEY 

IN  THINKING  of  the  Yosemite,  Angela  had,  half-uncon- 
sciously,  pictured  herself  and  Nick  Hilliard  alone  in  the 
valley  together,  separated  from  "mere  tourists"  by  a  kind 
of  magic  wall.  But  down  it  tumbled  with  her  first  moment 
at  El  Portal;  and  behold,  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall 
were  hundreds  of  eager  young  men  and  women  who  no 
doubt  resented  her  existence  as  much  as  she  resented 
theirs. 

The  huge  veranda  of  the  log-built  hotel,  on  the  hill 
above  the  railway,  swarmed  with  brides  and  bridegrooms. 
It  was  extremely  early  in  the  morning,  and  everybody 
was  sleepy,  even  those  who  had  passed  their  night  in  the 
hotel,  not  in  the  train;  nevertheless,  though  good-natured, 
one  and  all  wore  an  air  of  square-chinned,  indomitable 
determination  which  puzzled  Angela. 

Something  was  evidently  about  to  happen,  something  of 
immense  importance,  for  which  each  man  with  all  his 
feminine  belongings  intended  to  be  ready  if  possible  be- 
fore any  one  else.  Angela  watched  the  silent  preparations 
with  impersonal  interest  while  she  waited  for  Hilliard  to 
come  from  the  office  and  tell  her  about  the  special  car- 
riage for  which  he  had  telegraphed. 

By  this  tune  a  hasty  breakfast  had  been  snatched,  and 

271 


272  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE  ' 

in  a  crowded  dining-room  full  of  laughter  and  chattering 
she  had  resigned  herself  to  the  falling  of  the  magic  wall. 
Other  people  had  a  right  to  enjoy  the  Yosemite  and  she 
must  not  grudge  them  their  place.  "I  suppose,"  she  said 
to  Kate,  who  stood  beside  her  on  the  veranda,  "that  all 
these  nice  girls  and  men  are  going  off  for  different  excur- 
sions. They  seem  a  good  deal  excited.  I  wonder 
why?" 

Just  then  a  stage  drawn  by  four  splendid  horses  drove 
up  the  veranda  steps.  Something  was  shouted.  Angela 
could  not  catch  the  announcement,  for  she  had  all  she 
could  do  not  to  be  carried  off  her  feet  in  the  general  rush. 
A  dozen  of  the  firm-faced  men  and  resolute  girls  made  a 
dash  for  the  box  seat.  With  no  malice  in  their  eyes,  they 
fought  and  wrestled  with  each  other;  and  it  was  a  case  of 
the  best  man  wins.  Those  worsted  in  the  struggle  with 
the  utmost  good-nature  contented  themselves  with  the 
next  best  places;  and  so  on  to  the  back  seat,  into  which 
the  weakest  fell,  almost  before  the  driver  had  brought 
his  horses  to  a  full  stop.  Away  tore  the  stage  with  its 
laughing  load,  and  another  vehicle  whirled  up  to  the  hotel 
steps,  to  be  filled  in  a  breathless  instant. 

As  Angela  stood  watching,  fascinated  yet  appalled, 
Nick  came  out  to  her,  with  the  air  of  a  general  who  has 
lost  a  battle. 

"How  glad  I  am,"  she  whispered,  "that  we  haven't  got 
to  fight  for  our  lives  like  that.  I  simply  couldn't  do  it." 

" Mrs.  May,  we  have  got  to ! "  he  groaned.  "I've  failed, 
after  all  my  boastings  of  what  I  could  do  for  you  in  the 
Yosemite.  A  private  carriage  can't  be  had,  and  they've 
made  a  rule  that  no  one's  allowed  to  book  a  seat  in  advance. 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY  '  273 

When  the  stage  for  the  Sentinel  Hotel  comes  along,  I 
shall  swing  you  on  to  the  box  seat,  if  I  kill  ten  men." 

Angela  rebelled.  She  pitied  herself  so  intensely  that  she 
had  no  compassion  left  for  Nick.  "  What  —  dash  people 
away,  and  push  ahead  of  them?  I'd  rather  —  yes,  I'd 
rather  turn  back  to  San  Francisco." 

"I  don't  see  myself  letting  you  turn  back,"  said  Nick. 
And  said  it  so  firmly  that  Angela,  never  opposed  by  him 
before,  looked  up  in  surprise.  He  was  not  smiling. 
Evidently  he  was  in  earnest,  deadly  earnest.  She  knew 
that  what  he  told  her  she  would  have  to  do,  and,  oddly 
enough,  she  grew  quite  calm. 

"When  our  stage  comes  along,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"I  shall  get  in  before  any  one  else,  and  keep  a  place  for 
you.  Don't  hesitate  a  second,  but  be  ready  for  a  jump. 
I'll  have  you  up  by  my  side  before  you  know  what's 
happened.  Kate  must  be  close  behind,  and  I'll  try  to 
swing  her  up  to  the  next  seat." 

"Why  shouldn't  we  have  the  back  places,  since  some- 
body must?"  Angela  questioned  meekly. 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  have  the  best  there  is,  and  I'm 
going  to  get  it  for  you,  that's  the  only  reason,"  Nick 
explained,  leaving  no  room  for  further  argument.  "It's 
the  least  I  owe  you,  after  failing  to  keep  my  other  prom- 
ises." 

She  said  no  more;  and  round  her  the  fight  for  places 
went  on,  desperate,  yet  extraordinarily  good-natured. 
People  tried  with  all  their  might  to  grab  what  they  coveted, 
but  if  somebody  else  snatched  it  from  under  then*  noses, 
why,  blame  Kismet!  The  rule  of  the  game  was  to  make 
no  moan. 


274  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Always,  as  a  new  relay  surged  forward,  Nick  by  some 
insidious  manoeuvre  edged  Angela  and  Kate  nearer  to  the 
front.  At  last  he  got  them  wedged  behind  the  foremost 
row  of  travellers  who  were  waiting  to  spring  upon  and 
overwhelm  an  approaching  stage.  Those  who  had  won  the 
way  to  the  front  and  achieved  safety,  unless  defeated  by 
an  unexpected  rear  attack,  wore  an  appearance  of  de- 
ceitful calm.  Two  extremely  big  young  men,  who  had  the 
air  of  footballers  in  training,  did  what  they  could  to  form  a 
hollow  square  round  a  couple  of  fragile  but  determined 
girls.  The  party,  while  in  reality  bent  upon  securing  the 
two  best  seats  at  any  cost  to  life  or  limb,  pretended  to  be 
looking  at  an  illustrated  newspaper.  This  feint  was  in- 
tended to  put  others  off  their  guard;  and  the  four  con- 
cealed their  emotions  by  discussing  the  pictures  on  the 
uppermost  page. 

A  name  spoken  by  one  of  the  girls  was  an  electric  shock 
for  Angela.  In  an  instant  the  veranda,  the  crowd  on  it, 
and  the  stage  whose  turn  would  come  next,  vanished 
from  before  her  eyes  like  a  dissolving  view. 

"Prince  di  Sereno!  What  a  romantic  name.  And  say, 
isn't  he  handsome?  I  wonder  if  he's  as  good-looking  as 
that,  really?" 

"She's  handsome,  too,"  the  other  girl  added.  "I  do 
hope  they  won't  be  killed." 

"Come  along,  kids  —  look  sharp!"  said  the  two  young 
men.  And  before  others  who  hoped  to  annex  the  box  seat 
could  breathe  after  an  interlude  of  footballing,  the  con. 
quering  four  secured  what  they  wanted.  Those  less 
fortunate  were  tumbling  up  as  best  they  could;  and 
Angela  had  scarcely  time  to  realize  that  she  had  not 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY  275 

dreamed  the  incident,  when  the  stageload  had  bounced 
away. 

She  was  left  dazed,  and  blushing  deeply,  so  deeply  that 
Nick,  quick  to  notice  lights  and  shadows  on  her  face, 
wondered  what  match  had  lit  that  rosy  fire. 

Angela's  first  thought  was  that  somehow  she  had  been 
found  out.  Then  she  remembered  that  the  girls  had  seen 
the  name  in  a  newspaper.  Also  they  had  been  looking  at 
Paolo's  picture.  And  he  could  be  handsome  —  in  a  pict- 
ure. But  of  whom  had  they  said,  "  She's  handsome,  too?  " 
Could  it  be  that  her  own  photograph  had  been  published 
with  Paolo's?  If  so,  who  had  dared  to  reproduce  it,  and 
why  ?  What  if  Nick  should  come  across  the  picture  and 
recognize  the  face  as  hers?  She  did  not  want  him  to  know 
that  she  was  the  Princess  di  Sereno  until,  for  her  own 
reasons  and  in  her  own  time,  she  should  choose  to  tell 
him  the  story  of  her  life.  Once  she  had  thought  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  need  ever  know;  that  they  would 
part,  and  she  would  remain  in  his  memory  as  Angela 
May.  Now,  however,  she  began  to  see  that  the  moment 
must  come  when  she  would  not  only  need,  but  wish,  to 
tell  him  all,  so  that  he  might  know  why.  But  she  never 
quite  finished  this  explanation  in  her  mind.  It  was  too 
fond  of  trying  to  finish  itself  without  waiting  to  be  put 
into  words. 

She  was  a  little  frightened  now,  lest  by  chance  there 
should  be  a  premature  revelation,  for  in  the  rush  to  get 
away  the  girls  dropped  the  paper  they  had  been  reading. 
It  lay  on  the  veranda  steps,  and  though  the  cover  was 
turned  back,  and  only  an  advertisement  page  could  be  seen, 
Angela  discovered  that  it  was  the  Illustrated  London  News. 


276  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Perhaps  the  page  which  lay  face  down  was  the  page  of 
the  photograph.  She  half  longed,  half  dreaded  that  a 
flutter  of  wind  or  a  passing  foot  might  turn  the  paper  over. 
What  could  the  girl  have  meant  by  saying,  "I  hope  they 
won't  be  killed?" 

Could  Angela  have  read  Theo  Dene's  mind  the  day  at 
Santa  Barbara,  this  picture  and  paragraph  would  have 
been  less  mysterious  to  her.  "I  wonder  if  Mrs.  May  knows 
about  the  Prince  ?"  Theo  had  asked  herself. 

"There's  an  English  paper  on  the  step,"  said  Nick, 
following  the  direction  of  her  eyes.  "Does  it  make  you 
homesick?  If  it  does,  I'll  put  in  a  claim  to  it.  There 
may  be  time  for  you  to  glance  it  over  before  the  right  stage 
turns  up." 

"No,  no,"  said  Angela,  hastily.  "I  don't  want  the 
paper.  And  oh,  look,  it  says  'Sentinel'  on  this  stage 
that's  coming." 

The  next  thing  she  knew,  she  was  swaying  between  earth 
and  heaven,  over  heads  that  surged  beneath  her.  Some- 
how, Nick  had  got  that  place  on  the  box  seat,  and  he  was 
beside  her,  resolutely  helping  Kate  on  to  the  high  step. 
Suddenly,  however,  Timmy's  covered  basket  flew  open. 
Kate  had  been  playing  with  the  cat,  and  had  forgotten  to 
fasten  Tim  in.  Resenting  the  confusion,  Timmy  made  a 
leap,  Kate  screamed  and  jumped  down  from  the  stage, 
carrying  not  only  the  cat's  basket,  but  a  small  dressing- 
bag  of  Angela's  —  all  she  had  brought,  except  a  suit-case 
containing  a  dress  or  two  for  the  journey.  Some  one 
else  had,  of  course,  scrambled  into  the  coveted  seat 
so  miraculously  vacated,  and  the  stage,  with  its  full 
complement  of  passengers,  went  swinging  down  the 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY  277 

road,  with  Kate  and  Timmy  and  the  dressing-bag  left 
behind. 

"Shall  we  try  to  stop?"  Nick  began;  but  Angela  cut 
him  short,  her  face  now  as  determined  as  those  of  the 
square-chinned  girls  who  had  passed  triumphantly  on 
their  way.  "No!"  she  said.  "I  can't  go  through  that 
again!  Kate  will  have  to  come  on  later." 

"There'll  be  another  'Sentinel'  stage  in  about  an  hour, 
I  guess,"  announced  the  good-natured  driver.  "She'll 
be  all  right." 

"She  knows  wThere  we're  going,"  said  Angela.  "She's  a 
quick-witted  girl,  and  I  shan't  worry.  I  mean  to  be  happy 
in  spite  of  everything  —  and  because  of  everything ! " 

So  the  stage  rolled  on  into  the  gate  of  the  Yosemite 
and  Kate  remained  on  the  veranda  of  the  hotel  at  El 
Portal,  consoling  herself,  when  she  had  retrieved  Timmy, 
by  looking  at  the  pictures  hi  the  Illustrated  London  News, 
an  old  number  of  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks  ago.  She  found 
it  so  interesting  and  absorbing,  one  page  in  particular, 
that  when  the  next  coach  bound  for  the  Sentinel  Hotel 
came  along,  she  forgot  to  fight  for  a  place  until  it  was  too 
late  to  fight.  There  was  not  another  stage  bound  for  that 
destination  until  to-morrow.  And  to-morrow  Mrs.  May 
and  Hilliard  were  going  on  somewhere  else;  Kate  could 
not  remember  where. 

Seeing  her  dismay,  the  manager  of  the  hotel  took  pity 
on  the  pretty  Irish  girl.  "Never  mind,"  said  he.  "You 
can  'phone  from  here  to  the  Sentinel.  When  your  lady 
arrives  there  this  afternoon,  she'll  find  your  message  and 
know  what's  happened.  Then  she  can  'phone  back  what 
she  wants  you  to  do." 


278  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"But  I  won't  get  to  her  to-night,  will  I?"  wailed  Kate. 

"No,  you  won't  get  to  her  to-night,"  he  echoed.  "But 
I  guess  she  ain't  so  helpless  she  can't  do  up  her  back  hair 
without  you,  is  she?" 

"Her  blouse  buttons  up  behind,"  Kate  murmured,  as 
one  murmurs  in  a  painful  dream.  "And,  oh,  by  the  powers, 
if  I  haven't  got  her  nightgown  in  this  dressing-bag ! " 

Naturally  the  manager  was  not  deeply  interested  in  Mrs. 
May's  nightgown.  As  for  Mrs.  May  herself,  she  was  not 
yet  conscious  of  the  loss  of  it.  She  was  thinking,  at  first, 
about  the  pictures  which  she  had  not  seen  in  the  Illustrated 
London  News,  and  the  girl's  exclamation:  "I  hope  they 
won't  be  killed!"  Then,  later,  of  the  valley  through 
whose  door  she  had  just  entered  with  Nick  Hilliard,  the 
hidden  valley  which  Indians  knew  and  loved  long  before  a 
few  cattle-seeking  American  soldiers  ferreted  out  the  secret. 

The  voice  of  the  Merced  drowned  the  dull  voice  of  the 
past  which  had  suddenly  called  to  her.  It  was  a  gay 
laughing  voice  that  sang  among  the  tumbled  rocks  sent 
down  to  the  river  for  playthings,  by  her  tall  brothers  the 
mountains;  and  the  voices  of  pines  and  cedars  answered, 
all  singing  the  same  high  song  in  the  same  language  —  the 
language  of  Nature.  Only,  they  sang  in  different  tones 
and  different  keys  —  soprano  and  contralto,  tenor  and  bass. 
The  song  was  so  sweet  that  no  one  could  think  of  any- 
thing else,  unless  it  might  be  of  love;  for  the  song  told  of 
love,  because  nature  is  love. 

As  the  sun  rose  higher  and  warmed  the  air,  the  valley 
was  like  a  great  box  full  of  spices,  such  as  the  three  Wise 
Men  of  the  East  carried  for  an  offering  when  they  followed 
their  Star;  a  secret,  golden  box  was  the  valley,  high-sided, 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY  279 

with  a  lid  of  turquoise  and  sapphire,  which  was  the  sky 
itself. 

The  deep,  still  trout-pools  of  the  Merced  —  bravest  and 
strongest  river  of  the  valley  —  were  coloured  like  beds  of 
purple  pansies;  or  they  were  vivid  green,  glinting  with 
sparks  of  gold,  like  the  wings  of  a  Brazilian  beetle.  Far 
down  in  the  clear  depths,  Angela  caught  glimpses  of  dart- 
ing fish,  swift  as  silver  arrows  shot  from  an  unseen  bow. 
And  close  to  the  sky,  high  on  the  rocky  sides  of  the  Yo- 
semite  treasure-chest,  were  curiously  traced  bas-reliefs, 
which  might  have  been  carved  by  a  dead  race  of  giants: 
heads  of  elephants,  profiles  of  Indians  and  Titanic  tortoises, 
most  of  them  appropriately  and  whimsically  named  by 
ancient  pioneers. 

"The  Yosemite!"  Angela  said,  over  and  over  to  her- 
self. "I'm  in  the  Yosemite  Valley!" 

Once,  in  the  heart  of  a  forest,  a  deer  sprang  out  on  to 
the  road  and  stood  alert,  quivering,  as  the  stage  lumbered 
heavily  toward  it  through  sparkling  red  dust  like  pow- 
dered rubies.  Then,  suddenly,  when  the  horses  were 
almost  upon  it,  the  delicate  creature  bounded  away, 
vanishing  among  the  shadows  which  seemed  to  have 
given  it  birth,  as  a  diving  fish  is  swallowed  up  by  water 
and  lost  to  sight.  This  vision  lingered  in  Angela's  memory 
as  one  of  the  loveliest  of  the  day;  but  the  great  cataracts 
did  their  startling  best,  later,  to  paint  out  the  earlier 
pictures. 

Even  the  first  slender  forerunners  of  the  mighty  torrents 
were  unforgettable,  and  individual.  Long,  ethereal,  float- 
ing white  feathers  drooped  from  the  heads  of  tremendous 
boulders  that  were  gray  with  the  glossy  grayness  of  old  sil- 


280  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

ver.  Cascades  were  everywhere ;  and  the  weaving  of  many 
diamond-skeins  of  water  behind  a  dark  foreground  of 
motionless  trees  was  like  the  ceaseless  play  of  human 
thought  behind  inscrutable  faces  whose  expression  never 
changed. 

Yet  these  silver  tapestries,  pearl-embroidered,  were  but 
the  binding  for  the  Book  of  the  Valley,  the  great  poem  of 
the  waterfalls;  and  as  the  stage  brought  them  near  the 
home  of  the  mighty  cataracts,  Nick  and  Angela  noticed 
that  the  atmosphere  became  mysteriously  different.  The 
sky  rolled  down  a  blue  curtain,  to  trail  on  the  floor  of 
the  valley,  like  a  veil  suspended  before  an  altar-piece. 
Through  this  curtain  of  exquisite  texture  —  bright  as  spun 
glass,  transparent  as  star-sapphires,  and  faintly  shim- 
mering —  their  gaze  travelled  toward  soaring  peaks  and 
boulders,  which  seemed  to  rise  behind  the  sky  instead  of 
against  it.  Then,  suddenly,  out  gleamed  the  dome  of  the 
Bridal  Veil,  bright  and  high  in  the  heavens  as  a  comet 
sweeping  a  glittering  tail  earthward. 

Later,  as  the  stage  wound  along  the  road  and  brought 
them  under  the  wall  of  the  cataract,  the  rainbow  diadem 
that  pinned  the  topmost  folds  of  the  veil  glittered  against 
the  noonday  sun;  and  in  the  lacy  woof  of  moving  water, 
lovely  kaleidoscopic  patterns  played  with  constant  inter- 
change of  flowery  designs.  Invisible  fingers  wove  the  bridal 
lace,  beading  with  diamonds  the  foliage  of  its  design;  or 
so  Angela  thought  when  first  she  saw  the  falls.  But  pres- 
ently she  made  a  discovery  —  one  which  Nick  had  made 
years  ago,  and  kept  the  secret  that  Angela  might  have  the 
joy  of  finding  it  for  herself. 

"Why,  it  isn't  a  veil,  after  all!"  she  exclaimed. 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY  281 

"I  know,"  said  Nick.  "That  effect's  only  for  the  first 
few  minutes,  like  a  stage  curtain  hiding  the  real  thing." 

"And  the  real  thing  is  only  for  the  elect,  like  us,"  said 
Angela,  conceitedly.  "Outsiders  can't  get  behind  the 
curtain.  Let  me  tell  you  what  I  see." 

"And  if  we  see  the  same  thing?" 

"  Why,  it  would  be  a  sign  that  we'd  been  —  friends  in  a 
former  incarnation,  wouldn't  it?"  But  this  was  a  ques- 
tion to  leave  unanswered,  and  she  went  on  quickly  to 
describe  what  she  saw  behind  the  "stage  curtain"  of  the 
Bridal  Veil.  "A  white  witch  falling  - 

"  Yes,  from  the  saddle  of  a  black  horse " 

"A  winged  horse,  like  those  the  Valkyries  ride.  Oh> 
now  the  witch  has  turned  her  face  to  me,  as  she  falls. 
She's  putting  me  under  a  spell.  I  feel  I  shall  never  escape.'* 

"I  hope  you  never  will,"  said  Nick.  "So  we  did  see 
the  same  thing  in  the  Cascade !  I  found  the  falling  witch 
when  I  was  here  before;  but  I  came  under  the  spell  with 
you." 

He  watched  her  face  fearfully,  as  he  ventured  this,  never 
having  dared  as  much  before;  and  seeing  that  she  turned 
away,  he  drew  her  attention  to  El  Capitan,  grandest  of  the 
near  mountains.  Nick  had  been  reading  The  Cid,  trying 
to  "worry  through  it  in  the  old  Spanish,"  he  explained;  and 
the  idea  had  come  into  his  head  that  the  mountain  might 
have  been  named  by  some  Spaniard  for  "  El  Gran  Capitan. " 
"You  see,  it's  too  big  and  important  for  an  everyday 
Captain.  But  it's  just  right  for  El  Gran  Capitan:  don't 
you  think  so?" 

Angela  did  think  so,  as  he  suggested  it,  though  she 
remembered  next  to  nothing  about  The  Cid.  But  Nick's 


282  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

knowledge  of  history,  which  had  amazed  her  once,  pleased 
without  surprising  her  now.  She  began  to  take  his  knowl- 
edge of  most  things  for  granted.  Here  in  the  Yosemite 
Valley  he  could  teach  and  show  her  much  that  she  might 
have  missed  but  for  him,  and  his  similes  showed  habits  of 
thought  with  which  a  few  weeks  ago  she  would  not  have 
credited  the  ex-cowboy.  He  made  the  mountains  take 
shape  for  her  as  gods  and  heroes  of  Indian  legends;  he 
told  her  of  the  Three  Graces,  and  the  Three  Brothers,  grim 
as  gray  monks,  who  threw  glances  over  then-  round  shoul- 
ders at  the  Graces;  and  there  was  no  drama  or  tragedy  of 
the  valley  that  he  did  not  know  from  its  first  act  to  the  last. 

In  the  afternoon  the  stage  rushed  them  past  a  charming 
camp  in  the  woods,  to  the  Sentinel  Hotel,  at  the  foot  of  the 
Yosemite  Falls.  Angela  was  given  a  room  opening  on  to  a 
veranda,  and  waiting  for  Nick  to  bring  her  some  word 
from  Kate,  by  telephone,  she  stood  looking  up  at  the 
immeasurable  height  of  the  cataract,  which  loomed  white 
across  a  brown  sweep  of  trout-haunted  river.  "It's  like  a 
perpendicular  road  of  marble  going  up  to  heaven,"  she 
thought;  and  as  she  gazed,  down  that  precipice  of  snow 
came  tumbling  a  white  shape  as  of  a  giant  bear,  striving 
desperately  to  save  itself,  hanging  for  an  instant  on  the 
brink  of  the  vast  gulf,  then  letting  go  hopelessly  and 
plunging  over. 

Angela  stepped  out  on  the  veranda  to  talk  with  Hilliard 
when  he  came,  and  though  shocked  to  hear  that  Kate 
could  not  arrive  that  night,  was  glad  to  know  her  safe. 
Nick  had  arranged  that  Kate  should  meet  her  mistress  at 
<jlacier  Point  next  day.  "And  so,"  he  said,  "there's 
nothing  to  bother  about,  if  you  can  do  without  her  for 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY  283- 

this  one  night.  I  hope  you  don't  mind  much,  for  I  feel  it 
was  my  fault.  I  ought  to  have  managed  better." 

"I  don't  mind  in  the  least,"  Angela  was  beginning  to 
console  him,  when  suddenly  she  broke  off  with  an  "Oh!" 
of  dismay,  clasping  her  hands  together. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Nick  questioned  anxiously. 

"Nothing.     Nothing  at  all." 

"  But  there  is  something,  Mrs.  May.  You  must  tell  me, 
and  I'll  try  to  make  it  right." 

"What  shops  are  there  here?"  she  asked  by  way  of 
answer. 

"Oh,  you  can  buy  photographs  and  souvenirs,  and 
candy  and  drugs,  I  expect." 

Angela  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  want  to  buy  them. 
Do  you  think  —  I  could  find  —  a  —  a  —  nighty?  " 

"A 'nighty'?" 

"A  nightgown.  You  see,  I've  just  remembered  —  the 
cascades  and  mountains  made  me  forget  —  my  dressing- 
bag  was  left  behind  with  Kate.  I've  a  frock  or  two,  and 
the  new  khaki  things  for  to-morrow,  hi  my  suit-case,  but  — 
nothing  else.  Brushes  and  combs  and  so  on,  I  can  get  here 
I'm  sure.  But  —  would  the  shops  —  if  any  —  run  to 
nighties?" 

"No,"  said  Nick,  gloomily.  "I'm  afraid  they  wouldn't^ 
anyhow  not  the  sort  that  deserves  a  nice  pet  name  like  that. 
But  —  I'll  get  you  one." 

"  You  can't,"  said  Angela.  "  You  can't  create  a  'nighty* 
or  call  it  from  the  vasty  deep." 

"That's  what  I  mean  to  do:  call  one  from  the  vasty 
deep;  hook  it  up  like  a  rare  fish." 

She  laughed.     "What  bait  will  you  use?" 


284  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"I  don't  know  yet.  But  I'm  going  to  find  out.  And 
you  shall  have  the  'nighty,'  as  you  call  it,  by  the  time  you 
want  it." 

"You'd  better  not  pledge  yourself." 

"I  do.  I've  failed  you  often  enough  since  we  started! 
I  won't  fail  this  time,  you'll  see.  The  thing  you  want  must 
exist  somewhere  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles,  and  I'm 
going  to  lasso  it." 

"But  you  didn't  engage  as  a  lassoer  of  nighties.  You 
engaged  as  trail  guide." 

"  If  anything  is  wanted  along  the  trail,  why  then  it's  the 
business  of  the  trail  guide  to  get  it.  Don't  you  worry  about 
your  arrangements,  Mrs.  May." 

"  I  don't.  Meanwhile,  I  may  find  some  kind  of  a  garment 
lurking  on  a  forgotten  shelf  of  the  candy-drugs-grocery 
shop." 

"  If  you  do,  it  wouldn't  be  worthy  of  you.  But  you  can 
try,"  said  Nick  dubiously.  And  after  a  late  luncheon,  she 
did  try,  in  vain.  Other  necessaries  were  forthcoming,  but 
nighties  were  things  that  you  had  to  bring  into  the  Yosemite 
Valley,  it  would  seem,  or  do  without.  Angela  said  nothing 
of  her  failure.  She  supposed  that  Nick  would  forget  her 
plight  if  she  made  little  of  it;  but  she  did  not  know  him 
thoroughly  yet.  They  took  a  walk,  and  the  momentous 
subject  was  not  mentioned:  nevertheless,  it  pressed  upon 
Nick's  thoughts.  As  he  talked,  the  "nighty"  that  was  not, 
and  must  be,  weighed  upon  his  mind  as  heavily  as  though 
it  were  a  coat  of  mail  instead  of  the  gossamer  creation  he 
imagined. 

"Now  I've  got  to  concentrate  and  figure  out  what's 
trumps,"  he  said  to  himself,  when  Angela  had  gone  to  rest 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY  285 

before  dinner.  "I've  dealt  myself  a  mighty  queer  card, 
but  there's  no  good  bluffing  in  this  game." 

The  desired  garment  declared  itself  even  to  the  untrained 
masculine  intelligence  as  a  dainty  and  dreamlike  thing, 
which,  to  deserve  its  name  and  be  worthy  of  a  fastidious 
wearer,  must  be  delicate  as  the  outer  petals  of  a  white  rose. 

How  then  to  obtain  for  this  despoiled  goddess  such  a 
marvel  in  a  remote  village,  lost  among  Yosemite  forests? 
There  was  the  rub;  a  vaguely  groping  "rub"  with  no 
Aladdin's  lamp  to  match. 

Nick's  thoughts  ramped  in  the  cage  of  his  mind  like  a 
menagerie  of  hungry  animals  awaiting  food.  Where  was 
that  food  —  in  other  words,  an  inspiration  —  to  be  got? 
Then  of  a  sudden  it  dropped  at  his  feet. 

He  had  been  pacing  uneasily  up  and  down  his  room; 
but  now,  with  all  his  customary  decision,  he  touched  the 
electric  bell.  A  trim  chambermaid  of  superior  and  intelli- 
gent appearance  answered  the  call. 

"Are  you  a  Calif ornian?"  was  the  first  question  flung 
at  the  neat  head,  in  place  of  an  expected  demand  for  hot 
water.  She  had  brought  the  water,  and  was  equally 
prepared  for  a  want  unforeseen.  "Yes,  sir,"  she  said. 
"I'm  a  Native  Daughter." 

"  Hurrah ! "  said  Nick.  "  Then  I  know  you  won't  fail  me." 

She  was  too  well  trained  a  girl  to  stare.  "Are  you  a 
Native  Son?"  she  ventured,  seeing  that  a  lead  would  be 
useful. 

"No;  but  I  ought  to  have  been.  My  parents  were 
Californian,  and  my  heart  is  and  always  will  be.  I  have  to 
ask  help  from  a  Californian  now,  for  the  honour  of  Cali- 
fornia." 


286  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Usually,  when  gentlemen  clamoured  for  help  from  this 
young  person  it  was  to  find  a  collar  stud.  But  not  even 
the  most  cherished  collar  stud  could  concern  the  honour  of 
the  State.  She  waited,  looking  sympathetic;  for  Nick's 
eyes  would  have  drawn  sympathy  from  a  stone,  and  Jessy 
Jones  had  not  even  a  pebble  in  her  composition. 

"As  a  Calif ornian,  I'm  showing  California  to  a  lady,"  he 
explained.  "She's  from  Europe,  and  I  don't  want  her  to 
think  the  old  civilization  can  produce  anything  better 
than  ours." 

"I  should  think  not!"  retorted  the  Native  Daughter. 
"What  is  she  looking  for  that  we  can't  produce,  I'd  like  to 
know?" 

"A  nightgown,"  confessed  Nick,  boldly.  "  You  see," 
he  hurried  on,  "she's  lost  the  bag  she  had  it  in." 

"Oh,  if  that's  all,  I " 

"Have  you  seen  the  lady,  over  in  the  annex,  in  number 
twenty-three?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Jessy.  "One  of  the  girls  told  me  there  was 
a  regular  beauty  there,  English  or  something,  so  I  made  an 
errand  that  way.  So  she's  the  lady?  Well,  that  makes  it 
harder!  'Tisn't  everything  would  do  for  her.  I  guess 
she's  rather  special." 

"  I  guess  so,  too.  That  was  what  worried  me.  Because 
it's  for  the  honour  of  California  that  a  foreigner  should  be 
supplied,  even  at  a  moment's  notice,  with  something  as 
good  as  she  could  get  at  home." 

"If  not  better,"  Jessy  corrected  him. 

"  If  not  better.  Of  course,  if  an  American  lady  lost  her 
baggage  she'd  make  allowances,  being  at  home.  And  if 
she  couldn't  get  what  she  wanted,  she'd  be  good-natured 


THE  HAPPY  VALLEY  287 

and  want  what  she  could  get.  Well,  this  lady's  good- 
natured,  too;  but  it's  no  compliment  to  the  Yosemite  for 
her  to  expect  little  and  have  what  she  expects." 

"No.     We  must  surprise  her." 

"Exactly.  For  the  honour  of  California.  Let's  mingle 
OUT  brains,"  said  Nick. 

"I  guess  they'll  be  more  useful  kept  separate,  sir;  each 
along  its  own  line." 

"  Does  yours  keep  a  line  of  the  right  thing?  " 

"It  begins  to  see  its  way  there.  We've  a  lady  staying 
in  the  hotel,  Mrs.  Everett,  from  San  Francisco,  who's  got 
what  we  want.  Mrs.  Everett's  a  Native  Daughter,  too. 
Oh,  yes,  she'll  spare  one  —  her  prettiest.  Don't  you 
worry,  and  don't  you  say  a  word  to  your  friend.  I  and  Mrs. 
Everett  will  do  the  rest.  When  that  lady  from  Europe  opens 
her  door  to-night  she'll  see  lying  on  her  bed  something 
that'll  keep  her  from  knowing  the  difference  between  the 
Yosemite  Valley  and  Paris.  Trust  two  Native  Daughters." 

"  I  will,"  said  Nick  devoutly.  And  he  shook  hands  with 
Jessy  Jones.  He  knew  better  than  to  offer  money  at  this 
stage  of  the  game;  for  he,  too,  was  a  Calif ornian,  and 
honour  was  concerned. 

That  night,  her  spirit  illumined  by  the  unearthly  glory 
of  a  lunar  rainbow,  Angela  went  to  her  room  with  a  faint 
sense  of  anticlimax,  in  the  discomfort  she  expected. 
Then,  making  a  light,  she  saw  foaming  over  the  coverlet 
a  froth  of  lace  and  film  of  cambric.  Almost  it  might  have 
been  woven  from  the  moon-rainbow.  But  pinned  on  to  a 
sleeve-knot  of  pale  pink  ribbon  was  a  slip  of  paper;  and 
on  the  slip  of  paper  were  a  few  words  in  a  woman's  hand- 
writing: "Compliments  of  California  to  Mrs.  May." 


XXIV 
THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE 

A  FAINT  fragrance  of  roses  haunted  the  mysterious 
"nighty,"  filled  the  room,  and  mingled  with  Angela's 
dreams.  All  night  long  she  walked  in  a  garden  of  sleeping 
flowers,  "sweet  shut  mouths  of  rosebuds,  and  closed  white 
lids  of  lilies";  and  it  seemed  but  a  short  night,  for  in  her 
dreams  she  had  hah*  the  garden  still  to  explore  —  in  search- 
ing for  Nick,  it  seemed  —  when  a  rap,  sharp  as  the  break- 
ing of  a  tree  branch,  made  her  start  up  in  bed.  A  dim 
impression  was  in  her  mind  that  a  voice  had  accompanied 
the  rap,  and  had  made  an  unsympathetic  announcement 
which  meant  the  need  to  get  up.  But  the  only  really  im- 
portant thing  was  to  run  back  into  the  garden  and  find 
Nick  Hilliard,  as  otherwise  she  might  miss  him  forever. 
So  Angela  shut  her  eyes,  and  hurried  down  dim  labyrinths, 
where  she  had  been  wandering  before,  and  called  to  Nick : 
'*  I'm  here  again.  Where  are  you?" 

The  rosebuds  and  lilies  were  still  there,  fast  asleep,  yet 
somehow  the  garden  was  different  and  not  so  beautiful. 
A  handsome  woman,  with  black  hair,  was  gathering  the 
flowers,  pretending  not  to  see  Angela,  and  Nick  had  gone. 
A  girl's  voice  somewhere  was  saying,  "Prince  di  Sereno! 
What  a  romantic  name." 

It  only  seemed  a  minute  since  the  first  knock,  but  now 

288 


THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE          289 

there  came  another;  and  this  time  the  announcement  was 
even  more  disturbing:  "Breakfast's  ready!"  Immedi- 
ately after,  as  if  to  show  that  no  arguing  would  avail, 
steps  went  clanking  along  the  veranda,  heavy  at  first, 
fainter  with  distance,  and  at  last  a  convulsive  banging  on 
the  door  of  some  other  unfortunate. 

Now  Angela  wished  no  longer  to  return  to  the  garden  of 
sleep.  She  was  glad  to  get  up,  bathe  in  haste  and  dress 
breathlessly,  for  she  had  asked  to  be  called  at  five  in  order 
to  breakfast  before  six.  In  a  strenuous  quarter  of  an  hour 
she  had  arrived  at  the  blouse-fastening  stage  of  her  toilet; 
and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  blouse  concerned  was  one 
which  did  not  approve  of  hurry,  and  tolerated  no  liberties. 
It  was  of  fine  cambric,  hand-embroidered,  fastening  at  the 
back,  where  on  one  side  lived  a  quantity  of  tiny  pearl 
buttons,  made  to  mate  with  an  equal  number  of  loops  on 
the  other  side,  very  little  loops  of  linen  thread.  As  works 
of  art  these  were  admirable,  but  they  liked  to  be  waited 
upon  respectfully  by  an  experienced  lady's  maid.  Missing 
such  attentions,  not  one  would  consent  to  yoke  itself  with 
its  appointed  button. 

Angela  grew  warm  and  flurried.  She  rang,  but  no  one 
answered  the  bell,  for  it  was  not  yet  six  o'clock;  and  only 
a  few  of  the  hotel  servants  had  come  on  duty. 

What  should  she  do  ?  Last  night  she  had  looked  forward 
with  interest  to  dressing  this  morning,  for  Nick  had  got  for 
her  a  costume  suitable  for  riding  a  trail  pony,  and  fortu- 
nately she  had  it  in  her  suit-case.  It  was  of  khaki,  with  a 
divided  skirt,  and  a  peculiarly  fetching  jacket.  But  the 
jacket  must  be  worn  over  a  thin  blouse;  and  she  could 
not  go  out  to  breakfast  with  that  blouse  unbuttoned  from 


290  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

neck  to  waist.  No  doubt  by  this  time  Nick  was  waiting. 
A  large  party  would  start  from  the  hotel  to  drive  to  Mirror 
Lake,  and  they  two  were  to  be  in  the  crowd  —  though  not 
of  it  —  finding  their  trail  ponies  later.  She  might,  of 
course,  keep  her  "forest  creature"  waiting  indefinitely. 
He  was  inured  to  that  treatment  and  would  not  complain; 
but  the  others? 

"Are  you  ready,  Mrs.  May?"  Nick's  voice  inquired 
apologetically,  outside  the  door.  "  I  hope  you  won't  mind 
my  bothering  you,  but  I  thought  perhaps  your  call  had 
been  forgotten,  so " 

"Can  you  do  my  blouse  for  me?  Because  I  can't! 
And  if  you  can't  I  shall  cry,"  moaned  Angela  in  a  voice  of 
despair.  She  dashed  the  door  open,  and  stood  on  the 
threshold,  in  the  sweet  dawn,  the  river  laughing  at 
her  plight. 

Nick  did  not  laugh. 

There  was  his  Angel,  in  her  short  khaki  skirt,  and  the 
thin  cambric  blouse  that  would  not  button.  Her  face  was 
flushed,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  that  dress-rage  than  which 
no  emotion  known  to  woman  is  more  fiercely  primitive. 
She  was  in  an  early  morning  "I  don't  care  what  happens 
now!"  mood;  but  Nick  cared. 

In  the  first  place,  as  his  eyes  took  in  the  situation, *he 
was  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  vast  responsibility.  If 
he  could  not  "do"  the  blouse,  Mrs.  May  had  threatened 
to  cry,  and  she  looked  as  if  she  would  keep  her  word.  So 
"do"  the  blouse  he  must,  if  the  sky  fell.  And  if  he 
couldn't,  it  had  better  fall ! 

Angela  stood  with  her  back  to  her  victim,  and  the 
rosy  light  of  sunrise  turned  a  small  visible  slip  of  white 


THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE          291 

skin  to  pearl.  A  ring  or  two  of  bright  hair,  moist  from 
her  bath,  curled  out  from  the  turned-up  mass  of  gold,  and 
hovered  like  little  glittering  bees  just  over  the  top  but- 
tons of  Mrs.  May's  collar,  which  Nick  must  now  attack. 
What  if  some  of  that  shiny  hair  was  twisted  around 
the  buttons  ?  Good  heavens!  On  closer  inspection  it 
was! 

The  man's  heart,  which  was  beating  fast,  seemed  sud- 
denly to  turn  to  water  —  wild,  rushing  water,  like  that 
of  the  river  below  the  fall. 

"Can  you  do  it?"  asked  Angela,  anxiously. 

"I  sure  will,"  answered  Nick,  with  a  hundred  per  cent, 
more  confidence  than  he  felt.  A  confidence  somewhat 
increased,  however,  by  last  evening's  success.  "Do  I 
begin  at  the  neck  or  the  waist?"  he  inquired  in  his  most 
matter-of-fact  voice,  as  if  he  were  about  to  cord  a  box,  or 
nail  up  a  crate  of  oranges. 

"At  the  neck,"  Angela  instructed  him. 

The  stricken  young  man  had  a  curious  sensation,  as  if 
his  hands  were  swelling  to  an  immense  size.  He  seemed 
to  have  as  much  control  of  his  fingers  as  though  he  wore  a 
pair  of  boxing  gloves. 

He  took  hold  gingerly  of  the  delicately  embroidered 
collar,  a  thumb  and  finger  on  either  side.  "I  guess  it 
won't  meet,"  he  ventured,  tentatively. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  will.     Just  pull  it  together  firmly." 

Nick  pulled  with  resolution. 

"  Ugh !     You're  choking  me ! "  she  gurgled. 

All  that  water  which  once  had  been  his  heart  trickled 
vaguely  and  icily  through  the  wrong  veins,  upsetting  his 
whole  system. 


292  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Forgive  me  this  time!"  he  implored.  "It's  going  to 
be  right,  just  as  soon  as  —  as  —  I  find  the  buttonholes." 

"There  aren't  any.     They're  loops." 

"Oh,  those  tiny  little  stick-up  things,  like  loosened 
threads?" 

"Yes.    You'll  see  it's  quite  easy,  after  the  first." 

Oh,  was  it  indeed?  Nick  suppressed  a  groan,  not  at  his 
task,  but  at  his  own  oxlike  awkwardness  (so  he  anathe- 
matized it)  that  made  a  torture  of  a  delicious  privilege. 
Evidently  it  was  a  much  harder  thing  to  lasso  one  of  these 
little  pearl  atrocities  with  its  alleged  "loop"  than  to  rope 
a  vicious  steer.  And  there  were  those  tangling  threads  of 
gold.  If  he  should  hurt  her! 

The  ex-cowboy  almost  prayed,  as,  with  the  caution  of 
a  man  treading  upon  knife-blades  on  the  edge  of  a  preci- 
pice, he  unwound  the  two  little  curls  from  the  top  button 
of  the  collar.  And  perhaps  his  unconscious  appeal  for 
mercy  had  its  effect,  for  the  tendrils  yielded  graciously  to 
coaxing.  He  would  have  given  a  year  of  his  life  to  kiss 
one  of  those  curls;  a  comparatively  worthless  year  it  would 
be,  since,  in  all  probability,  it  would  be  empty  of  Angela 
May !  Yet  no  —  now  that  he  had  touched  her  like  this,  now 
that  he  had  come  so  near  to  her,  he  felt  with  all  his  soul  that 
he  could  never  let  her  go.  He  would  have  to  keep  her 
somehow. 

"She  may  think  there's  a  dead  line  between  us,"  he  told 
himself;  "but  before  we  leave  the  Yosemite  Valley  to- 
gether I'm  going  to  do  my  best  to  cross  that  line,  if  I  get 
shot  for  my  cheek.  -It's  better  to  dare  the  dash  and  die, 
than  not  to  dare,  and  lose  her." 

Never,  perhaps,  was  so  desperate  a  resolve  cemented 


THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE          293 

while  fastening  a  woman's  blouse;  but  there  was  a  hint  of 
triumph  in  Nick's  voice  as  he  announced,  "I've  done  it!" 
His  signal  success  in  two  operations  of  extreme  difficulty 
seemed  to  him  like  two  separate  good  omens. 

Angela  lightly  thanked  her  knight  for  his  services  and 
bade  him  wait  on  the  veranda  while  she  put  on  her  jacket 
and  hat.  A  minute  later  she  came  out  again,  ready  for 
breakfast;  and  now,  having  a  mind  released  from  buttons, 
she  saw  that  Nick  was  good  to  look  upon  in  his  khaki 
riding-clothes. 

"Am  I  all  right?"  she  inquired  modestly. 

"Better  than  all  right,"  he  allowed  himself  to  answer. 

"I  do  think  this  hat  of  Hawaiian  straw  is  a  success. 
And  you  —  well,  I'm  rather  proud  of  my  trail  guide.  Used 
you  to  dress  like  that  in  your  cowboy  days?" 

Nick  laughed.  "  Great  Scot,  no !  I'd  have  been  in  rags 
in  no  time.  Didn't  you  ever  see  a  cowpuncher's  'shaps'?  " 

"No;  I  don't  even  know  what  they  are.  Have  you 
kept  your  cowboy  things?" 

"Oh,  yes.  They're  knocking  around  somewhere.  I 
have  to  put  them  on  once  in  a  while." 

"  If  I  accept  your  invitation  to  come  and  see  your  place, 
will  you  'dress  up'  in  them?  " 

"Of  course,  if  it'd  please  you.  But  I'd  feel  a  fool  rigging 
myself  out  just  to  show  off,  like  an  actor." 

"Yet,  that's  the  bribe  you'll  have  to  offer  if  you  want 
me  to  pay  you  a  visit." 

"It's  settled  then.  I  hope  the  moths  haven't  got  my 
'shaps'  since  I  had  'em  on  last." 

They  both  laughed  and  went  to  breakfast.  What  a  good 
world  it  was !  Angela  told  Nick  the  tale  of  the  mysterious 


294  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

apparition  of  a  beauteous  "nighty,"  and  wondered  how 
she  could  ever  have  felt  unhappy,  or  depressingly  grown 
up. 

The  others  who  were  going  to  Mirror  Lake  were  almost 
ready  to  start,  and  the  "buckboard"  which  was  to  take 
Nick  and  Angela  had  come  to  the  hotel  door.  But  these 
two,  at  all  tunes  small  eaters,  were  exhilarated  by  the  wine 
of  life,  and  a  little  milk  and  bread  sufficed  them.  They  did 
not  keep  the  party  waiting,  and  so  they  were  regarded  with 
favour  —  the  handsome  young  man  and  the  lovely  girl 
about  whose  relations  to  each  other  people  were  quite 
good-naturedly  speculating.  Angela  saw  that  she  was 
regarded  with  interest,  and  that  eyes  turned  from  her 
to  Nick.  But  she  was  "only  Mrs.  May,  whom  nobody 
knows."  After  the  drive  on  the  buckboard  she  and  Nick 
would  be  separating  from  the  rest.  That  night,  at  Glacier 
Point,  she  would  find  Kate,  already  arrived  from  El  Portal; 
and  then  she  would  never  see  any  of  these  pleasant  ques- 
tioning-eyed young  people  again.  The  most  reckless  part 
of  the  adventure  would  be  over  with  this  day  —  and  she 
was  rather  sorry.  After  all,  she  did  not  much  regret  the 
wave  of  fate  which  had  swept  her  and  her  maid-chaperon 
temporarily  apart.  There  was  a  certain  piquancy  in  trav- 
elling alone  with  this  knight-errant. 

Mirror  Lake  —  well-named  —  was  asleep  still,  and 
dreaming  of  the  mountains  which  imprisoned  it  as  dragons 
used  to  imprison  princesses  in  glass  retorts.  There  was 
the  dream,  lying  deep  down  and  visible  under  the  clear 
surface;  and  when  every  one  else  had  gone  off  to  the  trail 
ponies,  Nick  and  Angela  stayed  to  watch  the  water's 
waking.  It  was  a  darting  fish  which,  with  a  splash  and  a 


THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE          295 

ripple,  shattered  the  picture;  but  the  ripple  died,  and  the 
lake  slept  again,  taking  up  its  dream  where  it  had  been 
broken  off,  as  Angela  had  tried  to  do.  She  had  failed, 
for  her  picture  had  changed  for  the  worse  when  she  found 
it  again;  but  the  second  dream  of  Mirror  Lake  was  fairer 
than  the  first.  Into  it  there  stole  a  joyous  luminance 
which  made  saints'  haloes  for  the  reflected  heads  of 
mountains.  The  sun  rose,  and  stepped  slowly  into  the 
water's  dream.  It  flung  the  lake  a  golden  loving  cup, 
thrilling  it  to  the  heart  with  that  bright  gift. 

A  little  farther  on,  by  the  Happy  Isles  —  small,  lovely 
islands  of  rock  in  the  river's  whirl  —  Nick  and  Angela  found 
their  trail  ponies  waiting  in  charge  of  a  boy.  But  Nick 
knew  the  trail  well,  and  was  to  be  the  sole  guide,  as  they  had 
always  planned.  He  put  Angela  up  on  an  intelligent 
brown  bronco,  which  had  to  be  ridden  Mexican  fashion; 
and  they  set  off  together,  the  boy  looking  after  them  as  if 
he,  too,  would  have  liked  to  follow  the  trail. 

Far  ahead  they  could  see  the  procession  of  their  lost 
companions,  just  rounding  a  sharp  corner.  They  were  an 
admirable  cavalcade  in  khaki,  the  men  wearing  sombreros, 
the  girls  with  brilliant  blue  or  green  veils  tied  over  big 
hats,  and  scarlet  silk  handkerchiefs  knotted  at  their  necks. 
The  gaily  coloured  figures  on  horse  or  mule  back  fitted  the 
picture  as  appropriately  as  if  they  had  been  Indians;  and 
Angela  gazed  at  them  with  pleasure;  but  she  felt  no  wish 
to  join  the  band. 

Nick  led;  she  rode  close  behind,  sometimes  mounting, 
sometimes  descending  the  narrow  trail  toward  Glacier 
Point.  By  and  by  Hall  Dome,  one  of  the  great  granite 
mountains,  began  to  dominate  the  world;  but  though  the 


296 

cascades  were  in  his  kingdom  they  could  not  be  governed 
by  him,  because  spirits  are  not  ruled  by  earthly  kings. 
There  was  Vernal  Fall,  gentle  in  majesty;  and  Nevada,  a 
wild  and  untamed  water  spirit;  and  retrospect  glimpses  of 
the  Yosemite  Falls. 

Close  to  Nevada,  they  reached  a  famous  viewpoint,  and 
Nick  took  Angela  off  her  pony  that  she  might  stand  near 
the  edge  and  see  the  white  torrent  plunge  over  an  unthink- 
able abyss.  Always  she  had  hated  to  look  down  from 
heights,  because  they  made  her  long  to  jump  and  end 
everything.  But  to-day  she  was  in  love  with  life,  and  the 
leap  of  the  waters  quickened  her  heart  with  a  sense  of 
power.  On  the  pony  again,  as  they  went  up  and  up,  or 
down  steep  rocky  ways  on  the  verge  of  sheer  abysses,  she 
had  no  fear.  She  seemed  to  be  learning  a  lesson  of  peace, 
a  lesson  such  as  only  unspoiled  nature  can  teach. 

From  the  high  levels  they  had  reached,  they  looked 
down  on  clouds  that  glittered  silver-white  as  snow-capped 
mountain-heads.  Among  the  rocks,  where  the  ponies' 
hoofs  picked  their  way,  wild  flowers  sprang,  strange  and 
lovely  blossoms  such  as  Angela  had  never  seen;  but  Nick 
knew  most  of  them  by  name.  Bird  notes  dropped  like 
honey  from  fragrant  shrubs  and  trees  that  hid  the  singers. 
Squirrels  with  plumed  tails,  and  chipmunks  striped  white, 
gray,  and  brown,  raced  across  the  trail,  or  peered  with  the 
bright  beads  they  had  for  eyes  from  piles  of  dead  wood  that 
lay  gray  as  skeletons  among  the  living  green  of  the  moun- 
tain forest.  Far  below,  Silver  Apron  Fall  splashed  into  the 
Emerald  Pool  and  turned  its  green  jewels  to  diamonds. 
The  near  forests  and  faraway  waters  sang  hi  the  different 
voices  the  same  song  other  waters  and  forests  had  sung 


1 


THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE          297 

yesterday;  but  this  song  of  the  High  Sierra  had  wilder 
notes,  above  and  beyond  all  knowledge  of  fleeting  episodes 
such  as  human  lives  and  civilizations.  For  the  song  had 
not  changed  since  the  wrorld  was  young.  The  air  was  not 
mere  air,  but  seemingly  a  conscious  mingling  of  Divine 
Ether  with  the  atmosphere.  Though  they  ascended 
always,  it  was  as  if  they  rode  through  the  depths  of  a 
crystal  sea,  unstirred  by  their  presence,  a  sea  as  deep  and 
as  high  as  heaven,  a  blue  that  took  the  solidity  of  tur- 
quoise between  tree-trunks  and  paled  to  opaline  fire 
across  the  canon.  Angela  knew  that  never  again,  after 
these  spacious  days,  could  she  go  back  to  her  old  self. 
She  felt  that  she  had  mounted  one  step  higher  on  the  stage 
of  development,  and  gained  an  ampler  view.  It  was 
easier  now  than  it  had  been  to  see  how  Nick  Hilliard  had 
become  what  he  was.  Nature,  on  the  grandest  scale 
and  with  the  "grand  manner,"  she  thought,  had  given 
him  his  education;  had  been  for  him  at  once  school- 
mistress, guide,  and  companion.  And  no  college  built 
by  man  could  give,  for  money,  such  knowledge  as  sky  and 
wide  spaces  had  given  Nick  for  love. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  the  ponies  brought  them  to  the 
high  plateau  of  Glacier  Point,  where,  looking  down,  the 
world  was  a  sea  billowing  with  mountains,  foaming  with 
cataracts. 

Angela  was  deliciously  tired;  and  the  long  low  hotel, 
built  of  logs,  with  a  huge  veranda,  seemed  to  promise  the 
welcome  she  wanted :  a  cool,  clean  room,  a  warm  bath,  and 
afterward  luncheon.  Also,  she  expected  to  find  Kate. 
Nick  had  wired,  or  telephoned,  she  was  uncertain  which; 
and  though  no  answer  had  been  received,  Kate's  silence 


298  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

might  no  doubt  be  easily  explained  later.  Angela  felt  con- 
fident that  she  would  have  precisely  the  room  she  pictured; 
she  rather  hoped  it  would  be  white  and  green. 

The  manager  met  them  on  the  veranda,  but  it  was  not 
the  manager  Nick  had  known. 

"My  name's  Hilliard,"  Nick  began. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  'phoned  an  answer  to  you  at  the  Sentinel 
Hotel  this  morning.  Something  wrong  with  the  wire 
between  us  yesterday." 

"We  must  have  started  before  you  'phoned." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry.  You  wanted  two  rooms.  But  the 
best  we  can  do  for  you  and  Mrs.  Hilliard  is  one." 

"Great  Scot,  you  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
about!"  gasped  Nick.  "This  is  Mrs.  May." 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  May.  I  thought  you  said  your 
name  was  Hilliard." 

"  It  is.  But  hers  isn't.  We  —  I  —  I'm  only  her  guide," 
stammered  Nick,  so  deeply  embarrassed  for  Angela's  sake 
that  for  the  moment  he  lost  his  presence  of  mind.  "It's 
the  last  straw,"  he  thought.  "She'll  never  forgive  me." 
And  he  dared  not  look  to  see  how  she  had  taken  the  blow, 
until  she  surprised  him  by  laughing.  She  was  blushing  a 
little,  too. 

"Do  you  remember  the  laundry  in  New  Orleans?"  she 
asked.  "I'm  afraid  it  will  have  to  be  the  laundry  for  you 
again,  or  else  a  refrigerator." 

Nick  was  of  opinion  that  the  refrigerator  would  better 
suit  the  state  of  his  complexion,  which  needed  cooling,  but 
his  relief  at  seeing  Angela  amused,  not  offended,  was  too 
great  for  words.  He  mumbled  something  vague  about  any 
cupboard  or  cellar  being  good  enough,  and  began  to  re- 


THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE          299 

cover  himself;  but  his  confusion  had  been  contagious. 
The  hotel  manager  caught  the  disease,  and  hoped  Mrs. 
Willard  would  excuse  him  —  no,  he  meant  Mrs.  Day  — no, 
really  he  began  to  be  afraid  that  he  didn't  remember 
rightly  what  he  meant!  He'd  got  Mrs.  Milliard  and  Mr. 
Hay  mixed  up,  and  would  they  sort  themselves,  please? 
Once  he  had  them  straightened  out  in  his  mind,  he'd  try 
to  keep  them  straight. 

"Has  my  maid  come  on  from  El  Portal?"  Angela 
thought  this  a  propitious  moment  for  a  question  on  some 
other  subject. 

"Your  maid?    No,  Mrs.  Hill,  she  hasn't." 

"And  no  message?     How  strange!" 

"Nothing  that  I've  heard  of.  But  I'll  let  you  know. 
If  Mr.  Mayard  —  Mr.  Mill,  will  come  with  me  to  the 
'phone,  when  you're  in  his  room  —  I  mean,  when  you're 
in  yours  —  we  may  get  on  to  El  Portal." 

Angela  was  still  laughing  to  herself,  when  word  was 
brought  by  a  chambermaid  that  Kate  had  telephoned  from 
El  Portal.  She  had  hurt  her  ankle  in  getting  into  the  stage 
(Angela  could  quite  imagine  that!),  and  had  not  been  able 
to  proceed.  It  was  not,  however,  a  regular  sprain.  She 
was  in  bandages,  but  better;  and  it  was  now  settled  that, 
without  fail,  she  was  to  meet  Mrs.  May  at  Wawona  to- 
morrow. "And  your  husband  wants  to  know,"  added  the 
chambermaid,  "what  time  you  would  like  to  have  your 
lunch." 

"He  is  not  my  husband,"  said  Angela. 

The  young  woman  froze. 

"We  are  friends." 

The  scandalized  muscles  relaxed.     There  was  a  high 


300  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

nobility  in  friendship.  The  chambermaid  herself  had  a 
friend,  who  talked  a  great  deal  about  Plato,  in  the  cheap 
edition. 

"And  will  you  please  say  I  shall  be  ready  in  twenty 
minutes?" 

Standing  on  the  hotel  veranda  together,  after  luncheon, 
"Mrs.  Mill  and  Mr.  Hayward"  —  he  restored  to  calmness 
—  could  look  thousands  of  feet  down  to  the  floor  of  the 
valley.  Exactly  how  many  thousands  of  feet  there  were 
Angela  refused  to  be  told,  for  the  distance  seemed  illimit- 
able, and  cold  facts  might  dwarf  imagination.  They  saw 
the  Yosemite  Falls,  a  quivering  white  vein  on  a  dark 
wall  a  million  miles  away.  Mirror  Lake  was  a  splinter 
of  glass  on  a  pavement  of  green  tiles.  Nevada  and  Vernal 
Falls  were  pale  yet  bright  as  streaks  of  stardrift,  in  the 
blue  haze  of  distance. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  the  episode  of  Mrs.  Hilliard  and 
Mr.  May,  Nick  might  have  felt  tempted  to  try  his  fate, 
and  dare  the  dash  across  the  "dead  line,"  that  evening 
of  moonlight  on  the  mountain-top.  But  it  might,  he 
thought,  seem  like  presuming  on  what  had  happened;  and 
having  come,  more  or  less  safely,  round  an  awkward  turn- 
ing, he  was  thankful  to  find  himself  on  a  narrow  ledge  of 
security.  The  moonshine,  that  turned  mountains  to 
marble  and  sky  to  pearl,  was  cold  as  it  was  pure;  and  in  its 
bleaching  radiance  Angela  seemed  less  woman  than  spirit. 
He  dared  not  let  that  angel  know  how  hot  was  his  heart. 

"I'll  wait  till  we're  among  the  Big  Trees,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "They're  great,  as  great  as  the  mountains  in 
their  way,  but  they're  friendly  and  kind,  as  if  they  might 
help.  That's  where  I'll  risk  it  all :  in  the  Mariposa  Forest, 


THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE         301 

the  place  I  like  better  than  any  other  in  the  world.  So 
whatever  happens,  we  shall  have  seen  the  best  there  is 
together,  and  all  that  will  be  mine  to  remember,  if  I  lose 
everything  else." 

The  next  day  was  a  day  of  forest  and  flowers. 

They  were  not  travelling  this  time  in  an  ordinary  stage, 
for  Nick  had  secured  a  buckboard  for  themselves  alone, 
with  a  driver  who  knew  the  country,  with  its  beauties  and 
legends,  as  well  as  he  knew  his  big  muscular  gray  horses. 

Those  never-ending,  cathedral-forests  of  America's 
National  Park  were  wilder  than  any  that  Angela  had 
imagined.  She  hardly  believed  that  the  great  redwoods 
which  she  was  to  see  to-morrow  could  be  grander  than  these 
immense  fluted  columns  of  cedar  and  pine.  In  the  arms 
of  the  biggest  and  most  virile  trees,  many  slender  sapling 
shapes,  storm-broken,  or  tired  of  facing  life  alone,  lay 
helplessly.  But  the  driver's  heart  was  proof  against  a 
romantic  view  of  this  situation,  as  sketched  by  Angela. 
"It  oughtn't  to  be  allowed,"  he  said,  sternly.  "Think  of 
the  danger  in  fire.  That's  what  is  called  by  the  foresters 
'extra  hazard,'  as  I  guess  Mr.  Hilliard  knows." 

Oh,  yes,  Nick  knew.  But,  seeing  with  Angela's  eyes, 
he  envied  the  lover-trees  their  peril.  He,  a  lonely  tree, 
had  already  taken  fire,  but  he  would  gladly  risk  the  "extra 
hazard."  What  if  —  and  his  thoughts  ran  ahead  to  the 
day  in  the  redwoods,  that  day  set  apart  by  his  mind  as  the 
clou  of  the  excursion  —  what  if  the  thing  her  eyes  seemed  to 
say  to  him  should  be  true?  What  if  she  could  love  him, 
and  give  up  her  world,  that  world  which  he  saw  vaguely, 
as  a  dazzling  vision?  What  if,  to-morrow,  she  too  should 
know  the  thrill  of  "extra  hazard"? 


302  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

No  wonder,  then,  as  he  dreamed,  that  the  glacier 
meadows  encircled  by  green  walls  of  forest  primeval  should 
seem  like  fairy  rings,  visible  to  mortal  eyes  only  as  a  special 
privilege.  In  the  sunlight-gold,  the  sheets  of  azaleas, 
cyclamen,  and  violets,  were  embroidered  tapestries  of 
pink  and  purple;  the  bright  rivulets  of  melting  snow  that 
bathed  the  wild  flowers'  roots  became  a  network  of 
diamonds. 

Here  and  there,  under  the  huge  coniferous  trees,  lay 
patches  of  snow  still  unmelted,  though  the  month  was  June. 
Indian  fire  glowed  red  on  the  white  expanse,  blood  on 
marble,  and  scarlet  snow-plant  sent  up  lurid  spouts  like 
flaming  fountains.  The  tree-shadows  were  painted  pools 
of  lupin,  azure  lakes;  or  they  were  purple  seas  of  larkspur. 
Mountain-roses  and  wild  lilac  tangled  in  a  maze  of  pink  and 
white  and  gold.  Bear-clover  crowned  the  bald  gray  heads 
of  rocks,  or  shone  out  like  star-white  strawberry  blos- 
soms from  under  a  thicket  of  deer-bush.  Wild  asters 
burned  rosily,  like  small  Catherine  wheels  half  extin- 
guished. Small,  mottled  tiger  lilies  blazed  among  the  pale 
young  fronds  of  growing  bracken :  the  air  was  scented  with 
wild  roses  and  the  spicy  fragrance  of  manzanita  trees  — 
the  breath  of  California.  But  loveliest  and  strangest  of 
all  things  were  the  gardens  chosen  for  their  own  by  the 
mariposa  lilies.  The  trembling  winged  flowers  hovered 
airily  just  above  the  earth,  like  a  flock  of  alighting  butter- 
flies ;  and  overhead  poised  real  butterflies,  of  the  self-same 
delicate  tints  hardly  strong  enough  to  be  named  as  colours; 
silvery  white,  faint  lilac,  and  a'sunrise-hint  of  rose.  Ground 
butterflies  and  air  butterflies  seemed  kin  to  one  another, 
those  rooted  to  the  ground  longing  for  wings,  those  to 


THE  BEST  THING  IN  HER  LIFE         303 

whom  earth  offered  no  permanent  foothold  envying  their 
half-sister's  rest  and  peace. 

Here  in  the  mountains  it  was  spring,  though  down  below 
in  the  valleys  full  summer  had  come;  and  toward  evening 
Angela  and  Nick  descended  once  again  to  the  summer 
world. 

The  valley  of  Wawona  was  laid  out  on  the  plan  of  those 
fairy  rings,  alias  glacier  meadows,  which  they  had  seen  in 
higher  places,  only  this  was  a  fairy  ring  on  a  grander  scale. 
It  semed  so  hidden  by  a  belt  of  mountains  that  its  green 
lawns,  its  gardens,  its  fountains  and  flowers  might  have 
been  originally  discovered  only  by  some  happy  accident. 
But  the  discoverer  being  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  he 
or  his  descendants  had  built  a  delightful  though  unobtru- 
sive hotel  on  a  spot  which  might  still  have  been  warm 
from  the  fairies.  On  the  veranda  of  the  hotel  was  Kate, 
beaming  with  smiles  of  welcome  as  the  buckboard  coming 
down  from  Glacier  Point  brought  her  mistress  in  sight. 

"Oh,  it  was  a  lovely  place!"  said  Kate.  And  sure, 
how  happy  she  and  Timmy  were  to  be  there  at  last.  She 
had  arrived  hours  ago,  and  was  nicely  rested,  yes,  thank 
you,  ma'am. 

There  were  saucers  of  white  violets,  and  vases  of  iris 
and  Washington  lilies  in  Mrs.  May's  bedroom.  Here  were 
no  embarrassing  complications  connected  with  "Mr."  May 
and  "Mrs."  Hilliard.  All  was  peace;  and  as  the  dust 
which  had  turned  Angela's  golden  hair  to  silver  was  being 
brushed  away  by  Kate,  the  tale  of  the  maid's  adventures 
was  unfolded.  Yet  Angela,  smiling  gently,  as  she  inhaled 
the  sweetness  of  violets,  hardly  listened.  She  was  glad 
that  Kate  was  almost  well  and  that  Timmy  was  restored 


304  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

to  the  bosom  of  his  family.  But  it  seemed  to  her  that  no 
one  except  herself  had  had  any  adventures  worth  the 
name.  No  one  else  could  ever  have  adventures  half  as  good ! 
Even  she  —  no,  not  for  her  could  their  like  come  again. 
She  began  to  grudge  the  passing  of  the  hours,  wishing  that 
she  had  the  power  to  stop  all  the  clocks  of  the  world. 


XXV 

THE  BROKEN  MELODY 

"I  WANT  to  write  things  in  my  diary,"  said  Angela. 
"Now,  lest  I  forget  or  they  change  colour.  I  want 
to  write  here,  so  that  afterward,  when  I  read  the  page 
I  may  see  the  pictures." 

They  were  in  the  palace  of  the  giants  redwoods,  she  and 
Nick,  and  several  robins  and  chipmunks.  They  had  been 
there  all  day,  and  soon  it  would  be  sunset.  Then  the 
moon  would  come  to  light  them  home.  They  would  leave 
the  palace,  and  the  Best  Day  would  end. 

They  had  lunched  and  dined  with  a  huge  fallen  log  for 
a  table,  and  squirrels  for  their  honoured  guests.  Now 
they  had  come  back  (carrying  out  a  plan  made  in  the 
morning)  to  sit  under  the  Grizzly  Giant,  king  of  the  great 
Sequoias,  and  there  watch  the  sun  setting.  The  Giant 
seemed  to  know  all  they  were  doing  and  saying.  Not  only 
that,  but  what  they  were  thinking,  too.  He  had  great 
deep-set  black  eyes,  which  some  foolish  people  might 
mistake  for  knot-holes,  and  with  these  he  looked  down 
gravely,  perhaps  benevolently,  on  the  dark  head  and  the 
golden  one. 

That  was  his  human  aspect;  but  he  had  others,  and  it 
was  about  one  of  them  that  Angela  wished  to  write  —  just 
a  few  words  which  she  might  like  to  read  again  some  day. 

305 


306  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

In  the  gray  suede  receptacle  which  had  temporarily  and 
publicly  superseded  the  gold  bag,  she  carried  a  small 
book.  It  was  one  of  three  volumes.  Two  had  been  filled 
since  her  arrival  in  America,  but  this  was  just  begun. 
There  was  not  much  in  it  yet.  It  began  with  El  Portal. 
Where  would  it  stop?  Already  she  was  wondering. 
Maybe  she  would  never  write  any  more  after  to-day.  Or 
the  story  might  go  on  for  a  little,  and  end  when  this  trip 
with  her  "trail  guide"  ended.  Or  it  might  continue, 
more  perfunctorily,  just  long  enough  to  lay  the  foundation 
of  her  new  house,  the  plans  of  which  were  now  materializ- 
ing in  an  architect's  brain.  Her  interest  in  those  plans  had 
fallen  asleep.  Everything  outside  this  vast  cathedral  of 
a  thousand  fluted  red  columns  seemed  far  away  and  un- 
real. The  heart  of  the  world  was  throbbing  here,  like  the 
music  of  a  muffled  organ,  with  only  Nick  Hilliard  and 
herself  for  audience. 

"I  didn't  know  you  kept  a  diary,"  said  Nick.  "Some- 
how you  don't  seem  the  sort  who  would." 

"I  don't  'keep'  one,"  Angela  explained.  "When  I 
was  a  little  girl  and  went  abroad  with  my  mother,  I  used 
to  write  things  about  the  days  to  please  my  father  at 
home.  I  loved  him  very  much.  But  —  he  never  saw 
the  book.  After  he  died  I  wrote  no  more,  until  —  I 
came  to  California.  Now"  (she  spoke  hastily),  "I 
write  about  things,  not  people.  I  make  pictures  for 
myself  to  look  at  afterward;  for  I  can't  bear  to 
think  that  my  impressions  may  grow  dim,  even  when 
I'm  old." 

"  I  suppose  I  mustn't  ask  to  see  what  you  write  to-day?  " 
Nick  ventured.  By  and  by  he  meant  to  ask  a  thing  so 


THE  BROKEN  MELODY  307 

much  bolder  and  bigger  that  he  wished  to  try  his  feet  on 
the  difficult  path. 

"I  must  read  it  myself  before  I  can  judge,"  Angela 
smiled,  surprised  at  the  suggestion  from  one  who  never 
put  himself  forward;  who  had  never  begged  for  concession 
or  favour  since  offering  himself  as  "trail  guide."  "Now 
don't  speak  to  me  for  a  while.  I  want  to  call  the  whole  day 
back." 

But  though  his  lips  were  closed  his  eyes  were  not;  and 
they  seldom  wandered  from  the  bent  head  —  gold  against  a 
dark  tree-trunk;  and  the  cameo  profile  —  ivory-white 
upon  a  red-brown  background. 

Angela  was  sitting  under  the  generous  shade  of  the 
Grizzly  Giant.  Nick  lay  resting  on  his  elbow,  just  near 
enough  to  touch  with  his  shoulder  the  soles  of  her  small, 
dusty  shoes,  crossed  one  over  the  other. 

After  all,  it  was  not  as  easy  to  write  as  Angela 
had  expected,  with  Nick  lying  silent,  and  so  close 
to  her  that  it  seemed,  if  she  should  listen,  she  might 
hear  his  thoughts,  like  the  ticking  of  a  watch  under  a 
pillow. 

She  began  by  noting  down  commonplace  things,  as 
though  by  way  of  sorting  out  her  impressions. 

"We  left  Kate  this  morning  at  Wawona.  What  dear 
people  keep  that  hotel !  In  Europe  one  never  thinks  about 
hotel-keepers.  If  everything  is  right,  one  simply  takes 
them  for  granted,  as  one  breathes  good  air.  It's  different 
here  in  the  West  of  America.  They  —  these  charming, 
kind  people  —  lent  us  their  own  '  buckboard  '  —  a  glorified 
one;  and  their  two  horses,  Cash  and  Credit,  who  are  famous. 
Darling  animals  they  are,  and  understand  every  word  that's 


308 

said  to  them.  When  they  die,  generations  of  California 
horses  ought  to  be  named  Cash  and  Credit  to  preserve 
their  memory. 

"We  started  early,  just  after  the  morning  had  been 
born,  so  as  to  miss  nothing.  And  first  of  all  we  had 
a  quick  rush  through  the  flowery  valley  of  Wawona  — 
a  kind  of  prelude  to  the  music  of  the  great  redwoods. 
And  I  think  it  helped  me  to  appreciate  and  understand 
them.  We  saw  Stellar  Lake,  named  by  inspiration,  for 
it  looks  a  blue  sky  half  full  of  stars;  and  I  had  my  first 
sight  of  a  fish  hatchery.  I'd  no  notion  it  could  be  so  ex- 
citing to  watch  the  career  of  trout  from  the  egg  stage  up  to 
rainbow  maturity.  Never  shall  I  forget  grabbing  a  hand- 
ful of  tiny  wriggling  fish  out  of  the  trough  of  water  where 
they  lived,  and  holding  them  in  the  hollow  of  my  palm 
for  an  instant !  They  looked  like  big  silver  commas,  and 
interrogation  points,  oh,  but  punctuations  of  all  kinds; 
and  they  felt  like  iced  popcorn.  I  don't  think  I  shall 
ever  eat  trout  again.  It  would  be  so  treacherous,  now 
that  I  seem  to  have  known  the  creatures  from  the  cradle 
to  the  grave. 

"But  about  the  Big  Trees,  which  at  this  present  moment 
are  to  me  the  most  important  things  on  earth.  I've  seen 
a  good  deal  of  the  earth,  but  nothing  so  good,  nothing  so 
glorious.  No  wonder  Mr.  Hilliard  says,  'Why  need  people 
build  churches  in  this  part  of  the  world,  when  they  have 
the  redwood  cathedral  built  by  God,  full  of  the  sound  of 
His  organ  music?' 

"All  through  the  Yosemite  there  is  music.  You  hear 
the  forest  talking,  and  think  it  is  the  river.  You  hear  the 
river,  and  think  it  is  the  wind  giving  a  signal  to  the  trees, 


THE  BROKEN  MELODY  309 

that  they  may  begin  speaking;  for  trees  and  river  and  wind 
have  lived  so  long  together  —  like  people  married  happily 
since  early  youth  —  that  thoughts  and  words  and  tones 
have  come  to  be  the  same.  But  among  the  redwoods  is  the 
noblest  music  of  all,  different  from  that  of  any  other  trees. 
And  only  think,  yesterday  I  hardly  believed  they  could  be 
taller  and  grander  than  some  of  the  others  I  had  seen,  all 
those  great  conifers  that  would  have  been  gods  hi  Greece! 
Even  this  morning,  driving  through  forests  that  line  the 
way  to  the  Sequoias,  I  still  believed  that  —  poor  me !  The 
big  sugar-pines  and  the  yellow-pines  loomed  so  huge, 
towering  above  delicate  birches  and  a  hundred  other  lovely 
creatures,  which  they  guarded  as  Eastern  men  guard  the 
beauties  of  their  harems.  But  the  moment  I  saw  the  two 
first  giants  —  the  'Sentinels'  —  stand  on  the  threshold  of 
their  palace,  or  cathedral,  whichever  it  is  (but  it's  both, 
and  more)  I  knew  how  mistaken  I'd  been  about  the  others. 
These  are  super-trees. 

"We  drove  on  slowly,  along  a  wide  aisle  paved  with 
gold  and  sprinkled  with  gold-dust.  The  pillars  holding 
up  the  sky-roof  are  fluted  deeply  and  regularly;  and  they 
are  rose-red,  these  tree  columns,  seeming  to  glow  with 
inward  fire  —  the  never-dying  fire  of  life  which ,  keeps 
their  hearts  alive  when  common  trees  perish.  Theirs  is  no 
ruined  cathedral  or  palace.  All  is  perfect  now,  as  in  its 
beginning;  walls  and  dome  of  blue  which  can  never 
crumble;  and  the  doors  are  never  shut,  though  jealousy 
guarded  by  the  Sentinels. 

"In  some  of  the  trees  are  shrines.  At  first  glance  they 
appear  to  be  empty  shrines,  but  they  are  not  empty, 
really.  What  one  finds  there  depends  upon  one's  self.  I 


310  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

wish  I  could  live  in  this  palace  for  weeks.  I  should 
make  wonderful  discoveries. 

"In  old  houses,  whose  roofs  are  supported  by  great 
beams  of  oak,  I  know  they  call  the  stoutest  and  most 
important  the  'king  beam, '  for  without  him  the  roof  would 
fall.  Just  so,  the  Grizzly  Giant  is  the  king  tree  of  the 
Mariposa  Forest.  There  are  other  trees  more  beautiful 
and  graceful,  yet  he  is  indisputably,  undisputedly  king, 
among  lesser  royalties  and  royal  highnesses.  All  are 
crowned.  These  Sequoias  aren't  clothed  with  green,  like 
other  trees,  but  crowned  with  it,  having  also,  here  and 
there  upon  their  breasts,  green  decorations  and  medals. 
Their  bark  folds  and  drapes  them  in  mantles  of  royal 
purple,  and  their  high  crowns  mingle  gold  with  green. 
The  Grizzly  Giant's  crown  is  of  a  strange  shape,  and  very 
wonderful.  He  is  alive,  and  looks  at  you,  but  he  does  not 
wish  you  to  know  that;  so,  if  you  are  too  curious,  he 
often  pretends  to  be  a  castle,  ornamented  with  quantities 
of  fantastic  gargoyles.  The  castle  has  a  theatre,  into 
which  you  can  see;  and  it  is  fitted  up  with  extraordinary 
scenery.  There  is  a  museum  of  strange  statues,  too; 
headless  torsos,  and  arms  thicker  through  than  a  man  is 
long. 

"The  princes  and  princesses,  who  are  the  Grizzly 
Giant's  family  and  help  him  reign  over  his  subjects,  have 
to  go  and  stand  at  a  good  distance,  or  they  would  lose  their 
majesty  in  comparison  with  him.  When  we  had  left  the 
horses  (near  a  f  ascintating  log-cabin  in  the  woods) ,  and  Mr. 
Hilliard  had  arranged  for  their  comfort,  we  walked  about, 
picking  out  the  princes  and  princesses  and  knowing  quite 
well  from  the  look  of  them  which  was  which.  Some  of 


THE  BROKEN  MELODY  311 

the  trees  are  commandingly  masculine;  others,  though  as 
immense,  graciously  feminine. 

"It  sounds  rather  confusing  to  call  the  trees  sometimes 
columns  of  a  cathedral  or  palace,  sometimes  royal  people; 
but  any  one  who  has  come  to  visit  them  even  once  would 
understand.  If  I  were  to  be  here  longer,  I  should  see  them 
in  a  great  many  other  different  phases,  I'm  sure.  And  I 
may  perhaps  see  them  again.  But  nothing  will  ever  be  the 
same.  I  have  had  such  thoughts  to-day!  I  wanted  to 
put  each  idea,  small  and  big,  on  paper,  to  remember; 
but  I  find  that  they  won't  let  themselves  be  written  down. 
They  are  as  intangible  as  the  incense  in  this  cathedral, 
as  impossible  to  put  in  black  and  white  as  it  would  be  to 
jot  down  in  notes  the  music  that  pours  out  from  the  pipes 
of  the  unseen  organ,  or  to  paint  the  light  that  streams 
through  the  cathedral  windows.  And  what  a  magical 
light  it  is !  There  are  other  trees  in  this  forest,  besides  the 
Sequoias;  but  it  is  on  the  redwoods  alone  that  the  light 
concentrates,  just  as  limelight  is  turned  upon  the  leading 
characters  of  a  stage  drama.  They  burn  with  their  own 
ruddy  fire,  while  their  neighbour  trees  (overgrown  with 
golden-green  moss  that  makes  sleeves  for  outstretched 
arms,  and  gold  embroidery  for  dark  drapery)  gleam  out 
among  the  redwoods'  flaming  pillars  like  lighted  candela- 
bra. I  shall  see  those 'lights  behind  my  eyelids  to-night,  as 
I  saw  the  sunset  light  on  Stonehenge;  the  moon  touching 
the  Giralda  of  Seville;  and  my  first  alpenglow.  But  what 
Stonehenge  is  to  England,  the  Giralda  to  Spain,  and  the 
Alps  to  Switzerland,  that,  I  think,  is  the  Mariposa  Forest 
of  giant  Sequoias  to  California. 

"If  I  had  been  an  atheist,  I  believe  I  should  suddenly 


312  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

have  been  taught  the  lesson  of  God  among  the  great  red- 
woods. And  nobody  could  be  heavy-hearted  here,  or 
frivolous.  I  feel  that  the  same  light  which  burns  like  fire 
in  these  trees  burns  in  my  veins;  a  vast  wave  of  life, 
vitalizing  all  creation  and  making  it  kin.  I  am  a  poor 
relation  of  these  wonderful  giants.  Also  I  am  a  cousin  of 
the  robins  and  chipmunks  that  shared  our  picnic  luncheon, 
and  the  dinner  we  finished  a  little  while  ago.  I  am  nearer 
than  I  was  yesterday  to  all  humanity,  and  to " 

Angela's  pencil  stopped  its  weaving  back  and  forth 
across  the  small  white  pages,  pausing  as  if  of  its  own 
accord.  She  looked  at  the  last  words  she  had  written  and 
shut  the  book.  Yes,  she  was  near  to  all  humanity;  but 
nearer  than  any  to  one  who  was  all  the  world  to  her. 
Suddenly  she  felt,  with  poignant  intensity,  the  nearness 
not  only  of  his  body  to  hers,  but  the  nearness  of  their 
souls.  Her  spirit  and  his  touched  in  the  silence  of  the 
forest.  She  did  not  look  at  him  yet,  but  she  knew  that  he 
was  looking  at  her,  and  that  his  heart  was  in  the  look, 
calling  to  hers.  And  she  could  not  shut  her  ears  to  the  call. 

So  she  sat  for  a  long  moment,  her  eyes  clinging  for 
safety  to  the  little  volume  in  her  hands.  Her  fingers  pressed 
it  tightly,  almost  spasmodically,  and  upon  them  she 
seemed  to  feel,  even  to  see,  Nick  Hilliard's  hands,  brown 
and  strong.  It  was  only  her  fancy;  but  it  was  not  fancy 
that  they  burned  to  clasp  hers.  She  felt  that  longing  of 
his,  so  vital,  so  passionate,  creating  the  picture  it  desired. 
Always  before,  when  the  thought  had  flashed  into  her 
mind,  "He  is  beginning  to  love  me,"  she  had  thrust  it 
away,  shutting  her  mind  against  it.  But  that  was  before 
her  spirit  was  keyed  to  the  high  music  of  river  and  forest 


THE  BROKEN  MELODY  313 

in  the  Yosemite  Valley.  Since  then  she  had  passed  from 
the  twilight  of  little  society  shams  and  convenient,  con- 
ventional self-deceivings  into  the  glory  where  only  Truth 
was  visible  or  audible. 

At  last  she  was  forced  to  lift  her  eyes,  compelled  by  his. 
She  tried  to  look  past  him,  straight  into  the  sunset,  a  fur- 
nace that  burned  up  human  misgivings.  But  her  gaze 
was  stopped  on  the  way  by  Hilliard's. 

"May  I  read  what  you've  written?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  gave  him  the  book.  While  he  read, 
she  drew  in  deep  breaths,  gathering  strength  against  an 
emergency,  if  an  emergency  wrere  to  come.  But  she  hoped 
it  would  not.  She  wanted,  oh,  so  much!  to  keep  him  for 
a  comrade  —  for  the  comrade  who  had  made  this  day  the 
best  day  of  her  life.  She  did  not  want  to  stop  playing,  be- 
cause if  it  had  come  to  earnest,  deep  realities,  as  she  was 
afraid  it  must  come  now,  there  wrould  be  no  place  for  Nick 
Hilliard  in  her  future  —  the  future  of  Paolo  di  Serene's 
disillusioned  wife.  "  Still,  here  under  these  trees,  I  could 
tell  him  everything  better  than  I  could  tell  it  anywhere 
else,  and  make  him  understand,  and  even  forgive,"  she 
thought.  "  Without  fear,  I  could  let  him  know  that  I  care 
for  him,  and  that  he  has  been  the  only  man,  except  father, 
who  has  meant  anything  great  to  the  real  me.  Almost, 
I  wish  he  would  speak  —  if  he  does  love  me.  And  I  know 
he  does." 

But  he  lay  reading  the  fancies  she  had  written  about 
the  forest,  and  she  could  not  guess  how  he  was  summoning 
his  courage,  as  a  general,  surprised,  summons  his  forces 
to  battle.  She  did  not  know  how  deep  was  his  humility 
in  thoughts  of  her,  any  more  than  she  realized  how  utterly 


314  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

her  first  point  of  view  had  changed  toward  him,  the 
"forest  creature,"  the  "interesting,  picturesque  figure." 
So  entirely  was  he  a  man,  and  the  one  man,  that  she  had 
forgotten  her  old  impersonal  frame  of  mind. 

He  came  to  the  last  sentence  in  the  book,  broken  short, 
where  her  pencil  had  stopped  of  itself. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.     "I'm  glad  you  feel  those  things 
about  the  forest.     It's  always  been  like  that  to  me  — 
sacred.     If  anything  great  and  wonderful  were  to  happen, 
I'd  rather  have  it  happen  here  than  anywhere  else.     Would 
you?" 

Yes,  it  was  coming  !  Suddenly  she  hah*  wanted  it  to 
come  —  this  crisis  in  their  lives;  yet  something  made  her 
push  it  away,  just  for  a  little  while;  not  to  have  the  end 
quite  so  soon,  no  matter  how  beautiful  an  end. 

"Oh,  wait!"  she  exclaimed.  "Don't  let's  talk  of  our- 
selves yet  —  not  for  a  few  minutes.  Wait  with  me,  and 
neither  of  us  will  say  one  word  till  the  sun  has  set  and  the 
light  has  changed." 

"Till  the  light  has  changed,"  Nick  echoed,  a  shadow 
falling  over  his  face.  He  raised  himself  higher  on  his 
elbow,  his  shoulder  still  touching  her  foot,  and  they 
looked  toward  the  west. 

The  forest  seemed  to  have  been  lit  up  for  some  great  re- 
ligious festival.  Each  towering  tree  was  a  Titanic  candle, 
with  a  flame  at  the  top,  against  the  far-off  sky.  The  deep- 
red,  fluted  trunks  gleamed  with  a  pale  luminous  rose,  and 
long  straight  avenues  of  fire-dust  stretched  away  to  the 
end  of  the  world.  A  flood  of  golden  flame  poured  through 
the  forest,  like  a  tidal  wave  out  of  the  sun.  Then  came  an 
ebb,  a  pause.  The  wave  receded.  A  faint  purple  haze, 


THE  BROKEN  MELODY  315 

like  smoke  from  burning  heliotropes,  crept  along  the 
ground.  The  torch  of  sunset  broke  into  a  million  stars; 
blazing  golden  spiders  swung  from  glittering  webs  among 
the  treetops;  the  melting  crowns  of  the  redwoods  dripped 
rubies.  Red  meteors  fell  and  burst,  and  the  wild  glory 
faded  suddenly  into  a  subdued,  reminiscent  glow.  It 
was  as  if  a  cupful  of  ruddy  wine  had  been  drunk  at  a  gulp, 
leaving  but  a  few  drops  to  stain  the  crystal.  The  rosy 
radiance  ran  along  the  horizon,  and  al  that  lived  of  the 
sunset  clung  to  the  far  edge  of  the  world  or  caught  the 
gold  horns  of  the  Grizzly  Giant's  crown,  which,  like  a  high 
mountain  summit,  could  hold  the  light  of  day  while  night 
purpled  the  plain  below. 

All  day  a  concert  of  birds  had  filled  the  upper  chambers 
of  the  trees  with  silver  pipings,  but  now  not  a  bird  voice 
spoke.  There  was  silence,  except  for  a  faint  mysterious 
stirring,  as  of  dryads  beginning  to  wake  and  dress  for  their 
night-flitting  when  a  moonbeam  should  tap  on  their  shut 
doors.  The  lilac  haze  floated  up  from  the  ground,  and 
slowly,  very  slowly,  turned  to  silver  touched  with  rose. 
Like  a  veil  it  spread  among  the  trees  tangling  among  their 
sharp  branches,  its  lacy  mesh  tearing,  to  leave  dark  jagged 
holes.  But  unseen  hands  mended  the  rent  and  wove  the 
veil  into  a  curtain  that  screened  the  distance  and  was 
pinned  up  with  stars. 

The  whole  forest  rustled  with  mystery  in  the  strange 
pulsing  luminance  that  was  neither  sunset  nor  moonrise, 
but  the  memory  of  one,  and  a  hope  of  the  other  —  the 
kind  of  light  that  a  blind  man  might  see  in  dreams. 

"Now  —  Angela,"  Nick  half  whispered,  in  awe  at  the 
name  on  his  lips,  the  name  of  a  goddess  uttered  by  a 


316  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

mortal.  (Extra  hazard !  —  extra  hazard !)  At  last  he 
laid  his  hand  on  hers,  warm  and  close,  and  her  lips  opened 
to  break  the  spell,  when  a  voice  called  to  Nick  in  the  dis- 
tance : 

"Nick!     Nick  Milliard,  where  are  you?" 

Angela  drew  away  quickly,  the  spell  broken  indeed. 
He  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face,  that  had  been  pale,  flushing. 

"It's  Mrs.  Gaylor's  voice,"  he  said,  astonished  and 
incredulous,  as  if  at  the  call  of  a  ghost. 


XXVI 
AN  INVITATION  FROM  CARMEN 

CARMEN  had  been  following  from  San  Francisco,  a 
day  late,  because  once,  in  losing  the  trail,  she  had  lost 
twenty-four  hours.  To-day  she  had  arrived  at  Wawona 
in  the  afternoon,  and  learning  that  Mr.  Nickson  Hilliard 
had  gone  to  the  Mariposa  Grove,  she  asked  for  a  carriage 
to  take  her  there  too. 

"You'll  reach  the  woods  just  about  the  time  he's  coming 
away,"  she  was  advised.  "He  ought  to  be  back  by  tea 
o'clock  at  latest,  maybe  earlier."  But  Carmen  insisted. 
She  could  not  wait.  Business  made  it  neceassary  for  her  to 
see  Mr.  Hilliard  as  soon  as  possible,  without  wasting  a 
moment.  She  looked  sallow  and  hollow-eyed;  for  she  had 
been  travelling  hard.  Long  ago  now  she  had  put  away 
her  widow's  weeds;  yet  in  the  warm  June  sunlight  she 
had  the  aspect  of  a  mourner.  It  was  as  if  she  had  drunk 
the  blackness  of  night,  and  it  ran  in  her  veins.  In  full 
sunshine  she  seemed  to  bleed  shadow. 

The  name  of  Gaylor  was  well  known  in  California;  and 
here  at  Wawona  —  far  from  the  Gaylor  ranch  as  it  was  — 
those  with  whom  she  spoke  were  aware  of  her  importance. 
Carmen  had  no  fear  that  she  would  be  gossiped  about  and 
misunderstood.  She  was  Mrs.  Eldridge  Gaylor,  the  rich 
widow  of  old  Grizzly  Gaylor.  Every  one  knew  that  Nick 

317 


318  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Hilliard,  of  Lucky  Star  Gusher  fame,  had  been  her  hus- 
band's foreman,  and  that  the  land  which  had  made  his  for- 
tune had  been  sold  to  him  by  her.  No  one  would  doubt  her 
or  laugh  behind  her  back  when  she  stated  that  the  need  of 
a  business  discussion  with  Hilliard  was  pressing.  People 
would  think  that  perhaps  another  gusher  had  started  into 
being,  or  that  some  question  of  investments  must  be 
decided.  But  even  if  her  coming  "made  talk,"  Carmen 
was  in  no  mood  to  care.  In  her  mind  a  searchlight  shone 
fiercely  upon  three  figures:  her  own,  Nick  Hilliard's, 
Angela  May's.  Others  were  as  shadows.  A  buckboard 
and  horses,  with  a  good  driver,  were  found  for  Mrs.  Gay  lor 
after  a  slight  delay.  But  she  had  been  wandering  on  foot 
among  the  great  redwoods  for  hah*  an  hour  when  Nick 
heard  her  voice  calling  his  name. 

Mrs.  May  had  not  been  mentioned  at  the  hotel.  Carmen 
had  been  informed  simply  that  Mr.  Hilliard  was  showing  a 
friend  through  the  forest,  and  that  they  had  gone  out  in 
the  morning  with  the  intention  of  staying  to  see  the  sun- 
set. But  Carmen  had  found  in  the  visitor's  book  the 
name  of  "Mrs.  May  and  maid. '  She  had  been  cer- 
tain of  finding  them  there,  for  she  knew  only  too  well  that 
all  three,  with  a  "black  cat  for  luck,"  had  left  San  Fran- 
cisco together. 

Every  day  since  Theo  Dene  had  told  her  of  Angela  May's 
existence  she  had  "cut  the  cards,"  and  had  invariably 
come  upon  a  "fair  woman"  close  to  the  King  of  Hearts. 
Madame  Vestris  also  had  seen  the  "fair  woman"  in  the 
crystal,  and  had  described  her.  "She  is  beautiful  and 
young,  and  stands  in  the  sunshine,"  said  the  seeress,  in 
whose  visions  Carmen  had  implicit  faith;  "but  suddenly 


AN  INVITATION  FROM  CARMEN         319 

she  is  blotted  out  of  my  sight,  as  if  by  a  dark  cloud  that 
swallows  her  up." 

"Does  she  come  back  iato  the  crystal?"  Carmen  had 
asked,  eagerly. 

"  No.     I  can  see  you  now.     But  she  doesn't  come  back." 

"And  Nick?     Do  you  find  him?" 

Madame  Vestris  knew  very  well  who  "Nick"  was. 
During  the  last  three  or  four  years  she  had  replied  to  a 
great  many  questions  about  Nick  Hilliard,  and  her  answers 
had  brought  her  a  goodly  number  of  ten-dollar  bills.  For 
crystal-gazing  her  charge  was  ten  dollars:  with  a  trance 
in  addition,  twenty-five. 

"I  see  a  man  standing  beside  you.  But  he  is  in  deep 
shadow.  I  can't  make  out  who  it  is." 

Carmen  revived.  "  It  must  be  Nick.  There's  no  other 
man  I  can  think  of  I  would  let  come  near  me." 

When  she  called  to  Hilliard  in  the  Mariposa  Grove,  and 
his  answering  call  told  her  where  to  look,  Carmen  was  even 
more  anxious  to  see  what  Mrs.  May  was  like  than  to  meet 
Nick  himself,  though  it  seemed  years  since  the  night  when 
she  bade  him  good-bye,  full  of  hope,  believing  he  would 
come  back  to  her. 

The  two  were  standing  under  the  Grizzly  Giant  when 
she  came  up  to  them,  Nick  a  few  steps  in  advance,  because 
he  had  started  to  meet  his  old  friend,  and  a  sickly  pang 
shot  through  Carmen's  heart  as  she  saw  Angela,  tall  and 
white  in  the  rose-and  silver  twilight.  She  had  to  admit 
the  enemy's  beauty;  and  with  a  sharp  stab  of  pain  she 
remembered  Nick's  description  of  "the  angel  of  his 
dreams."  Yes,  this  white,  slender  creature  was  like  a 
man's  idea  of  an  angel.  Here  was  Nick's  ideal  made 


320  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

human.  Carmen  wished  that  the  Grizzly  Giant  might  fall 
on  the  angel  and  crush  her  to  death,  a  lingering  death  of 
agony;  because  nothing  less  could  satisfy  a  woman's 
longing  for  revenge.  Nor  was  death  enough  to  atone 
Carmen  would  have  chosen  to  see  Angela  die  disfigured,  so 
that  Nick  should  remember  her  hideous  through  the  years 
to  come.  Desiring  this  eagerly,  and  all  other  evils,  Mrs. 
Gaylor  was,  nevertheless,  polite  and  pleasant  to  Mrs.  May. 
She  came  out  from  the  tragic  shadow  which  had  enveloped 
her  like  a  mourning  mantle,  and  wondered  at  herself,  hear- 
ing the  sweet  tones  of  her  own  voice.  She  began  by  ex- 
plaining to  Nick  that  she  had  not  been  well;  that  her 
doctor  had  recommended  her  to  try  a  change  of  air,  and 
that  she  had  thought  of  the  Yosemite.  "I've  always 
wanted  to  see  the  valley  ever  since  you  came  back  and 
talked  so  much  about  it,"  she  went  on. 

"Then,  when  I  got  to  Wawona  I  heard  you  were  there. 
I  was  surprised!  Do  you  realize,  you  only  wrote  to  me 
once,  and  never  told  me  any  of  your  plans?  I  should  have 
thought  you  were  in  New  York  to  this  day  if  I  hadn't  run 
up  to  the  Falconers'  place  on  the  McCloud  River  not 
very  long  ago,  and  found  out  that  you'd  been  hi  Santa 
Barbara.  I  suppose  this  lady  is  Mrs.  May,  a  friend  of 
that  fascinating  Miss  Dene?  She,  or  some  of  the  people 
up  there,  told  me  that  you'd  promised  to  show  her  round 
California." 

As  Carmen  waited  to  be  introduced,  she  glanced  sharply 
from  one  to  the  other,  to  see  if  they  looked  self-conscious, 
but  they  wore  an  air  of  innocence  that  made  Carmen  long 
to  strike  Nick  and  trample  on  the  woman.  How  dared 
they  act  as  if  she  had  no  right  to  resent  their  being  here 


AN  INVITATION  FROM  CARMEN         321 

together?  Yet  she  did  not  want  them  to  know,  just  now, 
that  she  did  resent  it. 

Angela  was  almost  as  keenly  interested  in  Carmen  as 
Carmen  was  in  her;  and  though  Mrs.  Gaylor  was  not  at  her 
best,  she  was  excited;  her  eyes  shone,  and  dusk  softened 
her  hard  look  of  fatigue.  Angela  thought  Nick's  old  friend 
one  of  the  handsomest  women  she  had  ever  seen.  Also, 
she  was  jealous,  more  sharply  and  consciously  jealous  than 
when  Theo  Dene  had  gossiped  about  Mrs.  Gaylor  and 
Nick  Hilliard,  on  the  way  back  from  Santa  Barbara 
Mission.  Angela  had  never  before  known  the  sting  of 
jealousy;  had  never  thought,  till  that  day,  that  she  could 
feel  so  mean  a  passion;  yet  now  she  suffered  as  Nick  once 
had  suffered,  and  was  ashamed  to  suffer. 

A  few  minutes  ago  she  had  been  sure  that  Hilliard  loved 
her,  and  she  had  keyed  herself  to  tell  him  nobly  why  he 
must  forget  her,  why  she  must  forget  him.  But,  having  seen, 
Carmen,  she  began  to  wonder  if  Nick  did  care,  and  whether 
after  all,  he  had  meant  to  speak  of  his  love,  here  in  the 
forest.  Perhaps  she  had  been  conceited,  and  mistaken 
about  his  feelings.  Maybe  Nick  had  merely  been  chivalrous 
and  kind,  like  all  California  men,  and  wanted  nothing  of  her 
except  friendship.  Maybe  if  he  had  meant  to  tell  her  any- 
thing, it  had  been  about  this  beautiful  Mrs.  Gaylor. 

Nick  introduced  them  to  each. other,  rather  shyly  and 
formally,  and  they  were  both  extremely  polite,  even  com- 
plimentary. Carmen  said  that  she  hoped  Mrs.  May 
wouldn't  think  it  very  queer  of  her,  hurrying  out  to  meet 
Mr.  Hilliard  the  moment  she  heard  he  was  near.  Of 
course,  she  might  have  waited  for  him  to  come  back  to  Wa- 
wona,  they  said  he  would  be  back  by  ten.  But  she  was 


322  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

so  impulsive!  And  she  had  wished  to  see  the  redwoods  by 
sunset  and  moonrise.  She  knew  Mr.  Hilliard  wouldn't 
want  to  bother  about  bringing  her  here  next  day,  after  he 
had  just  seen  the  trees  himself,  and  for  the  second  time, 
too.  This  had  been  too  good  a  chance  to  lose.  The  trees 
were  wonderful,  weren't  they?  Would  Mrs.  May  and 
Nick  mind  stopping  a  little  longer  now  that  she  had  come, 
and  letting  her  see  the  moon  rise?  There  was  a  sort  of 
quiver  over  the  sky  as  if  it  would  appear  soon. 

All  three  sat  down,  but  not  in  the  place  where  Nick  and 
Angela  had  sat  together.  He  could  not  have  endured  that. 
While  Carmen  talked  and  the  others  answered — when  they 
must  — the  moon-dawn  came;  and  never  would  the 
Princess  di  Sereno  forget  the  drift  of  stars  behind  the 
trees,  and  the  fleecy  moon-surf  that  beat  on  the  high 
branches.  Yet  the  music  of  the  forest  was  silent  for  her, 
and  the  charm  was  broken. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-morrow?"  Carmen  asked. 
And  Angela  answered  before  Nick  could  speak:  "Oh,  my 
trip  is  over.  There's  nothing  more  to  do  but  to  go  back  — 
by  a  different  way,  of  course.  I  have  still  to  see  Inspiration 
Point,  of  which  I've  heard  so  much.  I'm  looking  forward 
to  that." 

"When  you  say  'go  back,'  do  you  mean  San  Francisco 
or  the  East?"  Carmen  tried  to  make  her  voice  sound 
indifferent,  though  polite. 

"To  San  Francisco,  for  a  while.  I'm  not  going  East,  I 
hope.  I've  bought  land  near  Monterey.  I  mean  to  build 
and  make  a  home  for  myself  in  California." 

Carmen's  one  lingering  hope  died.  She  had  thought  it 
just  possible  that  this  affair  had  been  a  travelling  flirtation; 


AN  INVITATION  FROM  CARMEN         323 

that  Nick,  though  infatuated,  would  return  to  his  old 
allegiance  when  this  witch-light,  this  will-o'-the-wisp,  this 
love  pirate,  had  gone.  But  the  love  pirate  intended  to 
drop  anchor  in  California  waters,  it  seemed!  Luckily  for 
Carmen  that  the  daylight  had  faded.  Changes  on  a 
woman's  face,  if  bent  a  little,  could  not  be  seen  in  the  dusk. 

"  I  wish  you'd  give  me  a  chance  to  prove  that  California 
women  are  just  as  glad  as  California  men  to  be  nice  to 
strangers,"  she  went  on.  "Your  home  isn't  ready  yet,  so 
you've  nothing  to  tie  you  down.  Won't  you  come  and  see 
my  home?  It's  very  pretty,  if  I  do  say  so  myself;  and  it 
might  give  you  one  or  two  ideas.  Try  and  help  me  persuade 
her,  Nick.  You  see,  Mrs.  May,  I  feel  almost  as  if  I  knew 
you.  They  could  talk  of  nobody  else  at  Rushing  River 
Camp!  And  meeting  you  in  this  wonderful  forest  makes 
me  sure  we  ought  to  be  friends,  as  if  it  was  meant,  you 
know." 

"You're  very  kind,"  said  Angela,  feeling  distinctly 
guilty,  because  she  did  not  like  Carmen,  and  admired  her 
only  because  she  could  not  help  it. 

"I  told  you  Mrs.  Gaylor  would  want  you  to  come  to  her 
house!"  exclaimed  Nick,  trying  to  be  cordial  and  forget 
his  bitter  disappointment. 

He  too  was  feeling  guilty.  He  had  been  even  more  sorry 
than  surprised  to  see  Carmen,  and  wished  her  a  hundred 
miles  away.  Something  told  him  that,  if  she  had  not 
interrupted  him  just  at  the  critical  moment,  when  hour 
and  place  and  mood  had  seemed  propitious,  Angela  would 
have  been  kind.  Such  a  moment  as  Carmen  Gaylor  had 
spoiled  might  never  come  again.  But  he  felt  that  he  was 
cruel  and  ungrateful  to  his  loyal  friend,  his  benefactress. 


324  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

It  was  not  her  fault,  he  reminded  himself,  that  she  had 
appeared  at  the  wrong  time.  She  could  not  have  guessed 
that  he  loved  Mrs.  May.  He  ought  to  be  flattered  because 
poor  Carmen  had  started  out  to  meet  him  in  the  forest, 
instead  of  waiting  at  Wawona.  The  sound  of  her  voice, 
with  its  deep  contralto,  reminded  him  how  much  he  owed 
'to  Mrs.  Gay  lor.  Her  friendship  and  generosity  had  made 
him  rich.  If  it  had  not  been  for  her  he  would  never  have 
owned  or  been  able  to  sell  the  Lucky  Star  gusher.  And, 
after  all,  there  would  be  other  moments.  Because  Mrs. 
Gaylor  had  inadvertently  robbed  him  of  this  chance  with 
Angela,  there  was  no  reason  to  feel  so  gloomily  sure  that  he 
would  never  have  another.  He  would  make  one  for  him- 
self !  And  now  here  was  his  kind  friend,  inviting  Mrs.  May 
to  visit  her,  mostly  to  please  him,  of  course.  How  like 
her!  If  only  his  angel  would  accept,  he  might  be  able  to 
"cross  the  dead  line"  by  and  by,  in  his  own  country,  and 
that  would  be  the  next  best  after  the  Mariposa  Forest. 

Carmen  bit  her  lip.  So  they  had  talked  her  over  to- 
gether, these  two,  and  Nick  had  told  this  woman  that  she 
would  be  invited  to  visit  the  Gaylor  ranch!  Well,  she 
would  let  them  believe  that  she  was  good-naturedly  playing 
into  their  hands.  She  wanted,  yet  hated,  to  have  them 
think  that. 

"Why,  of  course,  Nick  knows  how  delighted  I  am  to 
get  pleasant  visitors,"  she  forced  herself  to  say.  "I 
haven't  many  —  and  I  get  few  other  pleasures.  I'm 
awfully  lonesome  on  my  big  ranch.  Come  for  as  long  as 
you  can  —  but  even  a  few  days  will  be  better  than  nothing, 
if  you  can't  spare  more.  Nick  can  show  you  his  gusher  — 
or  rather  the  gusher  that  was  his;  and  Lucky  Star  City, 


AN  INVITATION  FROM  CARMEN         325 

which  you'll  think  queer  and  interesting,  I  expect,  just  as 
Nick  does  —  though  it  seems  vulgar  and  hideous  to  me. 
By  the  way,  Nick,  there's  a  new  school-teacher  at  Lucky 
Star.  Oh,  there's  lots  of  news  since  you  went  away! 
I  shall  have  heaps  to  tell  you.  Won't  you  come  and  visit 
me,  and  be  shown  around  by  Nick,  Mrs.  May?" 

Angela  was  torn  between  several  emotions,  none  of 
which  she  was  able  clearly  to  define.  If  she  refused,  it 
might  seem  ungracious,  because  already,  half  in  earnest, 
half  in  play,  she  had  partly  promised  Nick  to  go  some  time 
and  have  a  glimpse  of  Lucky  Star  ranch  and  city.  Yet, 
less  than  ever  did  she  wish  to  be  indebted  for  hospitality 
to  Mrs.  Gaylor. 

"Could  I  go  for  a  day?"  she  inquired. 

"You  could  for  two  days  and  a  night,"  said  Carmen,  "if 
you  couldn't  give  us  more  time.  You  see,  you'd  have  to 
travel  all  night  from  San  Francisco  to  Bakersfield,  or  rather 
to  Kern  —  which  is  the  same  thing.  And  my  place  is  a 
good  long  drive  from  there,  even  in  a  motor,  which  I  could 
easily  hire." 

"You  needn't  do  that.  I've  bought  one,"  Nick  cut  in 
eagerly.  "  She's  in  San  Francisco.  I  was  looking  forward 
to  showing  her  to  you.  But  now  I  can  do  better.  If  Mrs. 
May  consents,  I'll  ship  the  auto  by  train  in  advance  and 
send  the  shuvver  —  my  assistant,  I  mean  —  on  ahead,  so 
as  to  look  the  car  over  and  see  that  she's  ready  to  run  us  all 
out  to  your  ranch  after  we  arrive  at  Bakersfield  in  the 
morning.  Now,  aren't  you  surprised  at  my  news,  Mrs. 
Gaylor  —  that  I've  got  an  automobile  of  my  own?  Or 
did  they  tell  you  that,  among  other  things,  at  River 
Camp?" 


326  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Yes,  they  told  me,"  answered  Carmen,  with  the  same 
praiseworthy  calmness  which  she  had  been  admiring  in 
herself,  and  wondering  at,  as  if  it  were  a  marvellous  per- 
formance on  the  stage  by  an  actress. 

"Anyhow,  I  expect  my  yellow  car  will  excite  more 
interest  at  Lucky  Star  than  a  new  schoolmistress,"  said 
Nick,  laughing,  almost  light-hearted  again.  But  he  did 
not  give  more  than  a  thought  to  the  schoolmistress.  Of 
what  possible  importance  could  she  be  to  him? 

"Will  you  run  over  from  Kern  to  the  Gay  lor  ranch  in  his 
yellow  car?"  asked  Carmen,  softly  and  kindly,  seeing  that 
the  enemy  hesitated. 

"Yes  —  thank  you  both.     I  will  go,"  Angela  said. 

"Then  I'm  rewarded  for  my  long  drive  this  afternoon." 
And  indeed  Carmen  felt  rewarded.  She  thought  of  the 
crystal,  and  how  Madame  Vestris  had  seen  the  "fair 
woman"  blotted  out  of  the  sunshine  by  a  dark  cloud. 
And  after  that  she  had  not  come  into  Ihe  crystal  again. 
Carmen  had  been  there  with  a  man  standing  by  her  side. 

"But  what  should  I  have  done  if  the  hateful  creature 
had  refused  to  visit  me?"  Carmen  thought.  "Everything 
depended  on  that." 

Next  day  they  took  the  long  drive  together,  Mrs.  Gaylor, 
Angela,  and  Nick,  and  Angela's  maid  —  for  Carmen  had 
not  brought  Mariette  to  the  Yosemite.  Mariette  was  too 
talkative,  and  had  been  sent  home  from  San  Francisco. 
Carmen  did  not  wish  Nick  to  find  out  how  hurried  this 
journey  of  hers  had  been  lest  he  should  suspect  that  it  was 
made  in  quest  of  him !  She  wanted  him  to  believe  that  she 
had  been  travelling  leisurely  for  the  benefit  of  her  health, 
as  she  had  taken  pains  to  explain. 


AN  INVITATION  FROM  CARMEN         327 

Nothing  could  spoil  the  azure  mystery  of  Inspiration 
Point:  nothing  could  dim  the  brightness  of  the  Bridal 
Veil,  seen  from  a  new  point  of  view.  So  near  that  a  strong 
wind  might  have  driven  the  spray  into  their  faces,  they 
saw  the  white  folds  of  the  waterfalls,  embroidered  with 
rainbows,  and  the  dark  rocks  behind  its  rushing  flood, 
stained  deep  red,  and  gold  and  blue,  as  if  generations  of 
rainbows  had  dried  there.  Nothing  could  stifle  the  thrill 
of  that  wild  drive,  down  steep  roads  that  tied  themselves 
ribbonlike,  round  the  mountain-side,  and  seemed  to 
flutter,  as  ribbons  might  flutter,  over  precipices.  Yet  the 
magic  of  four  days  ago  was  dead.  Carmen,  sitting  between 
Nick  and  Angela,  had  killed  it.  Neither  rivers  nor  trees 
sang  their  old  song;  and  the  white  witch  of  the  Bridal. 
Veil  had  turned  her  face  away. 


XXVII 
SIMEON  HARP 

NICK'S  detective  in  San  Francisco  had  no  news;  at 
all  events  no  news  with  which  he  could  be  induced  to 
part.  "Wait  a  few  days  longer,"  he  said.  "That's 
the  only  favour  I  ask.  Maybe  by  that  time  we  shall  both 
know  where  the  poison-oak  came  from,  who  posted  the  box, 
who  sent  it,  and  why,  and  all  the  rest  there  is  to  know." 

"Haven't  you  any  suspicions  yet?"  Nick  asked  im- 
patiently. 
.     "I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that." 

"What  —  that  you  have,  or  you  haven't?" 

"That  I  haven't." 

"You  mean  you  do  suspect  some  one?" 

"Well,  my  mind's  beginning  to  hover." 

"Tell  me  where." 

"No.     I  won't  tell  you  that,  Mr.  Hilliard." 

"You  won't " 

"Not  while  I'm  hovering.  Not  till  there's  something 
to  light  on.  I  may  be  doing  an  innocent  person  a  big 
injustice." 

And  Nick  could  squeeze  no  more  hints  from  Max  Wisler. 
Herein  lay  one  secret  of  the  man's  success;  he  had  his 
own  methods,  and  no  one  could  persuade  or  bribe  him  to 
depart  from  them.  This  caused  him  to  be  respected.  And 


SIMEON  HARP  329 

Nick  had  to  leave  San  Francisco  with  Mrs.  Gaylor  and 
Angela,  tingling  with  unsatisfied  curiosity.  Mrs.  May  had 
forbidden  him  to  speak  to  Carmen  of  the  mysterious  box, 
having  grown  sensitive  on  the  subject.  More  than  once 
she  had  asked  herself  if  it  were  possible  that  some  one 
very,  very  far  away  —  some  one  whose  photograph  was  in 
the  Illustrated  London  News  —  hated  her  enough  to  do  her 
an  injury:  some  one  she  had  believed  to  be  completely 
indifferent  in  these  days.  The  thing  savoured  of  the  Latin 
mind,  she  could  not  help  thinking,  rather  than  the  Anglo- 
Saxon.  Perhaps  Princess  di  Sereno  was  not  quite  for- 
gotten in  Italy,  after  all.  And  Mrs.  May  could  imagine  a 
motive,  for  in  San  Francisco  she  had  been  able  to  find  a 
duplicate  of  that  illustrated  paper.  There  were  three 
photographs  in  it:  one  rather  bad  one  of  herself,  taken 
years  ago  in  Rome;  one  of  Paolo,  dressed  as  an  aeronaut; 
and  one  of  a  certain  handsome  young  woman,  very  be- 
comingly dressed  to  accompany  the  Prince  for  a  flight  in 
his  new  aeroplane. 

Angela  was  not  happy  in  this  expedition  to  the  Gaylor 
ranch,  though  she  reassured  herself  from  time  to  time,  by 
saying  that  it  was  better  to  accept  than  refuse  the  invita- 
tion; and  she  was  to  be  Mrs.  Gaylor's  guest  only  for  a 
day,  part  of  another,  and  one  night.  Still,  she  was  vaguely 
troubled.  The  warm  consciousness  of  being  surrounded 
by  kindness  which  had  made  the  California  sunshine 
doubly  bright,  was  chilled.  This  visit  would  be  like  other 
visits  which  she  had  made  in  the  past,  before  she  was  "  Mrs. 
May,  whom  nobody  knows."  In  Rome,  in  Paris,  in 
London,  Princess  di  Sereno  had  been  obliged  sometimes 
to  go  to  houses  of  women  whom  she  disliked  or  distrusted, 


330  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

and  to  have  them  in  hers.  Such  obligations  had  been  part 
of  the  inevitable  disagreeableness  of  daily  existence  for  the 
wife  of  Paolo  di  Sereno;  but  going  to  Mrs.  Gaylor  was  the 
first  false  note  in  the  music  of  this  free,  new  world.  Angela 
consoled  herself  by  thinking  of  Lucky  Star  Ranch. 
She  would  like  to  see  Nick  Hilliard's  home. 

"Simeon,  she's  here,"  said  Carmen,  in  a  low  voice,  to 
the  old  squirrel  poisoner. 

They  stood  together  in  the  grove  of  bamboos,  where 
they  had  talked  about  Nick,  and  about  "old  Grizzly 
Gaylor,"  on  the  May  night  when  Nick  was  leaving  for 
New  York.  Counting  by  time,  that  was  not  long  ago. 
But  Carmen's  whole  outlook  on  life  was  changed.  She 
felt  and  looked  years  older. 

"That's  all  right  then,  my  lady,"  Simeon  Harp  answered. 
"The  whole  thing's  all  right.  Don't  you  worry." 

"Oh,  I  do  worry.  Every  minute  I'm  in  hell,"  she 
groaned.  "Oh,  Simeon,  what  will  become  of  me? " 

"You'll  be  happy,  and  marry  the  man  you  love,  my 
lady,"  the  old  man  soothed  her,  the  red-rimmed  eyes,  which 
had  once  been  handsome,  sending  out  a  faint  gleam  of  the 
one  emotion  that  still  burned  in  the  ashes  of  his  wrecked 
soul:  devotion  to  the  woman  who  had  saved  his  life, 
who  had  given  him  a  roof  and  food,  and  —  above  all  — 
drink. 

"I  can  never  be  happy  again,  whatever  happens," 
Carmen  said,  with  anguish.  "He  loves  some  one  else. 
He  doesn't  care  for  me." 

"He'll  learn  to  care.  This  slip  of  a  thing  that's  come 
between  you  and  'im,  my  lady,  will  fly  away  out  of  his 


SIMEON  HARP  331 

mind  like  a  bit  of  thistledown.  When  I'm  done  with  her  — 
she's  got  rid  of  for  good." 

"Oh,  but  the  horror  of  it  —  the  getting  rid  of  her!  It 
don't  weaken  one  bit,  Simeon.  I've  brought  her  here  for 
that,  just  that,  and  it  shall  be  done.  In  some  moods,  for  a 
minute  or  two,  I  rejoice  in  the  thought  of  it.  I  want  it. 
I'd  even  like  to  be  there  and  see.  Madame  Vestris  says 
that  in  my  last  incarnation  I  was  a  Roman  Empress  — 
that  I  used  to  go  to  the  gladiator  shows,  and  turn  my  thumb 
down,  as  a  sign  that  the  wounded  ones  who  failed  in  the 
fight  were  to  be  killed  by  their  conquerors  in  the  arena. 
And  that,  once  when  I  hated  a  Christian  girl,  I  went  to 
see  her  killed  by  lions.  She  —  Madame  Vestris  —  watched 
the  whole  scene  in  her  crystal.  Very  likely  it's  true, 
what  she  says.  I  believe  in  her.  She's  wonderful.  But 
I'm  softer  in  this  incarnation  than  in  the  last,  I  guess.  It 
frightens  me  and  turns  me  sick  when  I  think  how  I  shall 
dream  and  wake  up  nights  afterward  —  even  if  I'm 
married  to  Nick.  Oh,  it's  awful!  But  it's  the  only  way. 
He  was  meant  for  me!  He's  mine.  She'll  have  to  go. 
And  I  don't  care  how  much  I  suffer,  if  only  I  have  him  for 
my  husband  in  the  end." 

"You'll  have  him,"  said  Simeon  Harp.  "It's  going  to 
be.  And  there  ain't  no  need  for  you  to  dream  bad  dreams. 
You  ain't  doing  the  thing.  It's  me.  It  was  me  thought 
of  it .  It's  me  who'll  carry  it  out." 

"Supposing  you  fail?"  she  whispered. 

"I  won't,  if  you'll  do  your  part.  Just  the  little  part, 
my  lady;  we  can't  get  on  without  your  doin'.  You  send 
her  there,  to  the  right  place;  that's  all.  For  the  rest  you 
can  count  on  me." 


332  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Oh!"  Carmen  shuddered,  and  put  her  hands  before 
her  face.  "To  think  it's  for  to-day  —  to-day!  If  only 
the  other  thing  had  gone  through  all  right,  and  she'd  been 
made  so  hideous  that  he  couldn't  look  at  her,  this  horror 
might  have  been  saved.  I'd  have  wanted  no  more.  Once 
he'd  seen  her  face,  that  he  thinks  so  angelic,  red,  and 
swollen  and  hardly  human,  he  could  never  have  felt  the 
same  toward  her  again.  And  it  wouldn't  have  hurt  her 
much  in  the  end.  But  evidently  she  isn't  the  kind  that's 
affected  by  that  stuff.  I  know  there  are  some  who  aren't. 
Those  two  haven't  spoken  about  the  box  to  me,  Simeon. 
I  was  afraid  at  first  Nick  might  suspect,  and  be  watching. 
But  that's  nonsense,  of  course.  And  she  wouldn't  be  here 
now  if  the  idea  had  crossed  his  mind." 

"Nobody'll  ever  know,"  said  Simeon.  "I  went  such  a 
long  way.  I  changed  trains  three  tunes  and  walked  miles 
in  between.  Besides,  when  I  posted  the  box  I  was  wearin' 
something  different  from  what  I  ever  wear  here.  I  was 
another  man  to  look  at." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  sure  you  did  your  part  well,"  Carmen  said 
quickly.  "It  was  Fate  interfered.  I  felt  it  would.  All 
the  cards  near  me  were  black  just  then.  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do  without  you,  Simeon  —  good  old  watch- 
dog! You  shall  be  rich  the  rest  of  your  life  if  you  win  me 
happiness." 

"I've  got  all  I  want,"  the  squirrel  poisoner  answered. 
"It's  a  pleasure  to  me  to  serve  you.  You  don't  need  to 
offer  no  rewards,  except  to  keep  me  near  you,  my  lady, 
and  give  me  my  bite  and  sup.  You  ought  to  know  that  by 
this  time  —  anyhow -since  a  year  ago." 

"I  know!    And  you're  clever,  as  well  as  faithful.     I 


SIMEON  HARP  333 

should  never  have  thought  of  as  good  a  way  as  —  as  this. 
No  one  could  possibly  prove  it  was  anything  but  an 
accident.  Did  you  —  see  her,  Simeon?  " 

"Yes;  I  wasn't  far  off  when  Nick's  big  yeller  automobile 
spilt  you  both  out  at  the  door.  To  my  idea,  she  ain't 
nothing  to  you.  I  was  never  one  for  blondes." 

"If  you  could  see  Nick's  eyes  when  he  looks  at  her! 
Those  are  the  times  when  I  feel  like  the  Roman  Empress. 
I  was  glad  he  wouldn't  stay  to  lunch.  Though  I  asked,  I 
don't  think  I  could  have  stood  having  him.  I'd  have  done 
something  desperate,  maybe,  and  spoilt  everything.  She's 
lying  down  now.  I  made  her  promise  she  would  till  half 
an  hour  before  lunch.  Nick's  coming  for  us,  with  his 
auto,  at  five.  He  wanted  it  to  be  earlier,  but  I  told  him  she 
was  tired,  and  it  would  be  too  hot  for  her  to  walk  around 
Lucky  Star  in  the  glare,  where  there  aren't  any  trees. 
It's  all  got  to  happen  and  be  over  with  before  five,  Simeon. 
She'll  never  see  Nick's  ranch  she  talks  so  much  of." 
Again  Carmen  shivered,  and  her  eyes  were  wide  and 
staring,  curiously  glazed.  She  knew  that  she  was  looking 
almost  plain  to-day,  and  had  been  actually  terrified  by 
her  own  face  in  the  glass  before  she  came  out  to  keep  the 
appointment  with  Simeon  Harp.  But  it  did  not  matter 
what  she  looked  like  before  Simeon.  When  Nick  came 
and  saw  her  again  next  time  there  would  be  reason  why 
he  would  have  no  eyes  for  her.  And  later,  when  all  this 
was  over,  she  would  come  back  into  her  beauty  again. 
She  must! 

"What  time  are  you  having  lunch,  my  lady?"  Simeon 
inquired  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  his  harsh  voice  sounding 
just  as  usual. 


334  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"At  one." 

"And  you'll  send  her  out?  " 

"At  half-past  two." 

"Right,  my  lady.  That'll  bring  her  to  the  place  I 
want  about  three  or  a  little  after." 

"Yes.     You're  sure  nothing  can  go  wrong?" 

"Sure  as  ever  I  was  about  a  squirrel." 

"Oh!"  Carmen  shivered,  and  turning  away  from 
him  without  another  word  she  went  back  to  the  house. 

No  one  had  seen  them  talking  together;  and  even 
if  they  had  been  seen  it  would  not  have  mattered.  Mrs. 
Gaylor  often  chatted  with  the  old  squirrel  poisoner,  who 
was  known  to  be  devoted  to  her;  a  harmless  creature 
who  hurt  nobody  —  except  himself  and  the  squirrels. 


XXVIII 
THE  DARK  CLOUD  IN  THE  CRYSTAL 

WHEN  the  musical  gong  sounded  for  luncheon,  and 
Carmen  came  down  from  her  room  at  one  o'clock,  she 
found  her  guest  already  in  the  garden,  as  lovely  a  garden 
as  Angela  had  seen  in  her  sleep.  For  a  minute  Carmen 
stood  on  a  step  of  the  brick  terrace,  looking  at  the  slender 
figure  in  white.  Angela  did  not  hear  the  faint  rustling  of 
muslin.  Her  back  was  half  turned  to  the  house,  and  she 
was  watching  the  aerial  architecture  of  the  fountain, 
delicate  domes  and  pinnacles  built  of  crystal.  Carmen 
thought  reluctantly  that  Mrs.  May  looked  very  young  in 
her  white  frock,  not  more  than  eighteen  or  nineteen 
She  wondered  if  the  love  pirate  enjoyed  life  very  much, 
and  whether  she  really  cared  for  Nick  and  wanted  to  marry 
him  or  whether  she  was  only  flirting.  Then  the  profile  at 
which  Carmen  had  been  gloomily  gazing  turned  into  a  full 
face.  Angela  smiled  at  Mrs.  Gaylor.  "You  must  have 
hypnotized  me,"  she  said.  "Suddenly  I  felt  I  was  being 
looked  at  by  some  one.  Have  you  been  taking  a  nap, 
too?" 

"No,"  said  her  hostess.  "I  knew  I  couldn't  go  to 
sleep.  I'm  glad  if  you  rested.  You  look  very  fresh." 

Angela  could  not  conscientiously  return  the  compliment. 
Mrs.  Gaylor  might  have  been  travelling  for  a  week  instead 
of  one  night. 

335 


336  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Luncheon  was  in  the  pergola,  where  Carmen  and  Nick 
had  dined  together  the  night  he  went  away;  the  night  — • 
as  she  expressed  it  to  herself  of  late  —  when  she  had  lost 
him.  Angela  had  never  seen  a  more  beautiful  place,  and 
said  so,  trying  to  make  conversation;  for  now  that  Nick 
was  not  with  them  she  felt  ill  at  ease  with  Mrs.  Gaylor. 
"What  a  garden!"  she  exclaimed.  "The  other  night  in 
the  Yosemite  I  dreamed  of  just  such  a  garden  —  and  I 
think,  at  the  end  of  the  dream  there  was  a  woman  in  it  — 
rather  like  you.  You  must  be  very  happy  here." 

"Yes,  I'm  happy  enough,"  said  Carmen.  "Oh!  I 
mustn't  forget  to  tell  you  —  Nick  came  back.  Did  you 
)iear  his  automobile?  " 

"No.     I  must  have  been  asleep." 

"  I  thought  you  were.  Besides,  your  room's  on  the  other 
side  of  the  house." 

"It's  beautifully  quiet  and  cool.  Did  Mr.  Hilliard 
come  to  change  the  plan  for  this  afternoon?  " 

"Yes.  He  turned  round  before  getting  home,  because 
he'd  remembered  something  he  had  to  do  at  six,  something 
important,  business  with  the  men  who've  bought  his 
gusher.  They're  to  look  at  another  one  —  smaller,  but 
pretty  good  —  and  see  if  they  want  to  buy  it  too;  a  new 
gusher  that's  burst  out  on  the  land  Nick  kept  for  his  own. 
So  he  thought  perhaps  we  wouldn't  mind  going  over  to 
look  at  the  place  a  good  deal  earlier,  after  all,  in  spite  of 
the  heat.  He  won't  let  you  be  exposed  to  the  sun  more 
than  he  can  help." 

"I  don't  mind  the  heat,  if  you  don't."  said  Angela. 

"Oh,  as  for  me,  I'm  half  Spanish,  you  know.  I'm  like 
a  salamander.  Nick'll  come  back  between  half-past  two 


THE  DARK  CLOUD  337 

and  three  —  soon  after  his  lunch.  He  might  almost  as 
well  have  stayed  with  us.  But,  of  course,  as  he's  been 
away  from  home  so  long,  he  wants  to  have  a  look  around 
and  be  sure  that  everything's  all  right  for  a  stranger  to  see. 
I  don't  wonder!  I  told  him  we'd  meet  him  at  the  east 
gate.  It's  a  short  cut,  and  though  it  isn't  much  of  a  walk 
for  us,  and  is  in  shade  over  hah*  the  way,  it  cuts  off  more 
than  two  miles  of  bad  road  for  him  —  road  that's  just 
being  made.  I  thought  you'd  rather  like  a  stroll  through 
the  bamboo  grove,  which  everybody  admires  so  much. 
The  only  part  of  the  walk  that  will  be  hot  is  going  across 
a  bit  of  disused  pasture  land.  But  we'll  take  green- 
lined  parasols.  I  have  a  lot  of  them  about  the  house,  for 
visitors.  We  ought  to  start  by  two-thirty;  and  by  three- 
fifteen,  with  the  motor,  we  can  be  coming  in  sight  of 
the  Lucky  Star  Gusher,  like  a  huge  black  geyser. 
You  know  Nick's  land  was  once  part  of  mine,  so  his 
place  is  no  distance,  really.  I  hope  you  don't  dislike 
walking?" 

"No,  indeed.  I'm  very  fond  of  it.  I  can  easily  do 
ten  miles." 

"Well,  you  will  have  only  a  short  mile  to  meet  Nick 
and  his  motor  this  afternoon.  I  dare  say  I  shall  pick  up 
a  little  by  half -past  two.  I  thought  maybe  lunch  would 
make  me  feel  better,  but  it  doesn't.  Just  the  other  way! 
I  can't  eat.  I've  got  one  of  the  horrid  headaches  that 
turn  me  almost  into  a  lunatic  once  in  a  blue  moon." 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Angela.  "Hadn't  you  better  send 
Mr.  Hilliard  word  that  we  can't  come  to-day?  You  know, 
there's  most  of  to-morrow " 

"Oh,  no,"  Carmen  broke  in  hastily.    "  I  wouldn't  disap- 


338  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

point  him  for  anything  in  the  world.  A  cup  of  black 
coffee  will  do  me  good." 

But  apparently  it  had  no  such  effect.  And  at  two 
o'clock  Mrs.  Gaylor  said  that  she  feared  she  must  not 
venture  out,  after  all,  in  the  hot  sun.  If  she  tried  she 
might  faint,  and  that  would  be  silly.  "I'm  so  sorry,  but 
you'll  have  to  go  alone,"  she  finished,  "and  when  I've 
had  a  little  rest,  I'll  come  after  you  in  a  carriage,  in  time 
to  bring  you  home.  That  will  save  Nick  motoring  here 
and  back,  and  give  him  a  chance  to  keep  his  engagement 
at  six,  with  those  men,  and  no  danger  of  a  breakdown  with 
his  car.  He  might  burst  a  tire  on  that  stony  road,  you  see, 
and  be  delayed.  Those  men  are  important  to  him." 

Angela  was  genuinely  sympathetic,  and  strove  to 
regret  that  Mrs.  Gaylor  could  not  be  with  her.  But  she 
could  not  feel  as  sorry  as  she  wished  to  feel.  There  was  a 
spice  of  danger  in  being  alone  with  Nick,  danger  that  he 
might  take  up  the  thread  dropped  in  the  Mariposa  Forest 
—  if,  indeed,  he  really  cared  to  take  it  up.  That  was  the 
question.  Perhaps,  even  if  he  loved  her,  he  would  not 
think  it  best  to  tell  her  so  under  his  own  roof,  where  she 
would  have  to  run  away  from  him  to  escape,  if  she  did  not 
choose  to  listen.  Whether  he  loved  her  or  not,  it  must 
come  to  the  same  in  the  end.  But  she  could  not  help 
longing  to  know  the  truth.  The  one  thing  she  did 
already  know  was  that  she  was  deliciously  frightened, 
yet  glad  that  she  was  to  see  Nick's  ranch  without  Mrs. 
Gaylor. 

At  half-past  two  she  started  out,  Carmen  giving  her 
explicit  directions,  which  she  could  not  mistake,  because, 
after  passing  through  the  bamboos,  the  way  was  straight 


THE  DARK  CLOUD  339 

as  far  as  that  stretch  of  disused  pasture  land  of  which 
mention  had  been  made. 

"You'll  be  in  shade  of  the  orange-trees  till  you  come  to 
a  big  gate  in  a  fence,"  Carmen  explained.  "Shut  it  after 
you,  please,  because  dogs  might  stray  into  the  garden  if 
you  left  it  open.  No  cattle  graze  on  that  part  of  the  ranch 
any  more.  They're  going  to  irrigate  there  and  to  plant 
alfalfa,  the  soil's  likely  to  be  so  good.  But  I've  been  weak 
enough  to  let  gipsies  camp  on  the  place  once  or  twice,  and 
there  might  be  some  there  now,  with  their  dogs  and  horses, 
for  all  I  know.  As  you  go  out  of  the  gate  you'll  see  a  kind 
of  track  worn  in  the  grass;  and  all  you've  got  to  do  is 
to  follow  it  for  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile,  till  you 
come  to  a  new  road  that's  just  been  finished.  When  the 
rest  of  it's  made  right,  motors  won't  have  any  trouble 
between  Nick's  ranch  and  mine." 

Angela  said  that  she  understood  her  instructions  per- 
fectly, and  took  the  green-lined  parasol  which  her  hostess 
had  found  for  her.  Its  outer  covering  was  scarlet,  and  it 
was  rather  big  and  heavy.  Angela  made  up  her  mind  that 
she  would  not  use  it  except  for  the  hottest  part  of  the  walk, 
going  across  the  disused  pasture  land. 

"  You'll  really  be  able  to  come  on  about  five?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  shall  be  a  different  woman  by  that  time." 
The  contralto  voice  dropped  oddly  and  suddenly  with 
these  words:  an  effect  of  the  headache,  of  course.  And 
the  pallor  of  the  dark  face  was  almost  ghastly.  Angela 
thought  that  her  hostess  looked  very  ill.  "You  may 
expect  me,"  Carmen  finished. 

"I  know  Mr.  Hilliard  would  be  disappointed  if  you 
didn't  come.  Good-bye  till  five,  then." 


340  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Good-bye." 

Angela  turned  away;  and  Mrs.  Gaylor,  who  had  brought 
her  guest  as  far  as  the  beginning  of  the  bamboo  grove 
stood  watching  the  white  figure  flit  farther  and  farther 
away,  among  the  intricate  green  pillars  of  the  temple. 
Then,  when  the  elusive  form  became  ghostlike  in  the 
distance,  Carmen  went  back  to  the  house.  She  walked 
slowly  and  with  dignified  composure  while  it  was  possible 
that  she  might  be  seen  by  some  servant.  But  once  in  her 
room,  with  the  door  locked,  she  tottered  to  the  bedside 
and  flung  herself  down  on  her  knees. 

"O  God  —  O  God!"  she  gasped,  her  face  hidden. 
Then,  lifting  her  eyes,  with  a  look  of  horror,  she  whispered, 
"No,  not  God  —  devil.  He's  the  only  one  I  can  ever  pray 
to  now." 

Her  eyes,  glazed  and  staring,  saw  again  the  white  figure 
passing  from  sunshine  into  shadow.  So  it  had  been  in 
Madame  Vestris's  crystal.  How  soon  would  the  dark 
cloud  blot  it  out  of  sight  now  —  and  forever? 

Angela  had  some  difficulty  in  opening  the  gate  that  led 
from  an  orange  plantation  into  the  disused  pasture,  for 
the  fence  was  high  and  strong,  and  the  gate,  apparently, 
not  often  used.  As  for  the  pasture,  it  went  billowing 
away  mile  after  mile,  seemingly,  though  at  a  distance  she 
could  see  a  wire  fence,  a  long  vanishing  line.  And  beyond 
that  —  safety  shut  away  by  the  wire,  she  was  glad  to  think 
—  a  large  number  of  cattle  grazing.  They  were  so  far  off 
that  their  forms  were  all  massed  together,  and  they  seemed 
very  quiet.  Nevertheless,  she  was  glad  that  a  wire  fence 
separated  them  from  her,  for  though  she  was  not  a  coward 
and  would  not  have  stopped  now  if  there  had  been  no 


THE  DARK  CLOUD  341 

fence,  there  was  something  rather  terrifying  about  a  great 
drove  of  cattle  in  a  lonely  place. 

"They're  much  too  far  off  to  see  my  red-covered  sun- 
shade," she  thought.  "But  even  if  they  did  see  it,  and 
didn't  like  it,  they  wouldn't  jump  over  a  fence  to  get  at 
me,  I  suppose!" 

She  walked  on,  along  the  track  worn  by  the  passing  of 
feet,  which  had  thinned  and  flattened  the  grass.  She  could 
not  see  the  new  road  of  which  Carmen  had  spoken,  but  she 
must  reach  it  sooner  or  later,  going  this  way.  For  the 
present,  several  low  hills,  like  grass-sown  waves,  billowed 
between  her  and  it.  But  by  and  by,  perhaps,  she  would 
hear  the  "  teuf-teuf "  of  Nick's  motor  coming  along  the  new 
road,  to  fetch  her  and  Carmen.  Would  he  be  glad  or 
sorry  when  he  found  that  she  was  alone?  She  hoped  that 
he  would  be  glad,  but  Mrs.  Gaylor  was  so  beautiful  that 
it  was  hard  to  be  sure.  Suddenly,  just  as  she  reached  the 
top  of  one  of  the  billowing  hills  and  caught  sight  of  a 
rough  road  about  hah*  a  mile  away,  she  started  at  a  sharp 
sound  like  a  shot.  It  seemed  to  come  from  the  direction  of 
the  cattle,  and  she  turned  to  look  toward  them,  vaguely 
disturbed.  As  she  looked,  her  unformed  fears  turned  to 
keen  and  definite  terror.  The  shot,  whether  or  no  it  had 
struck  one  of  their  number,  had,  in  an  instant,  stirred  the 
drove  in  panic.  Their  comfortable  peace  was  broken. 
Horns  tossed,  dark  forms  reared,  and  hoofs  descended  on 
shining  backs.  A  bull  bellowed  wildly.  Others  followed 
suit.  There  was  a  dreadful  roaring,  and  a  rushing  of  hoofs 
that  sounded  in  Angela's  horrified  ears  like  the  beginning 
of  an  earthquake.  The  whole  troop,  hundreds  of  horned 
heads  and  humpy  backs,  massed  and  seethed  together. 


342  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

It  was  as  if  an  irresistible  force  from  behind  impelled  them 
all  forward  in  a  pack.  She  stood  still  and  watched  the 
black  wave  of  cattle,  fascinated,  appalled,  her  heart 
beating  thickly.  No,  they  could  not  stop  now.  Nothing 
could  stop  them,  except  some  great  obstacle  which  they 
could  not  pass.  And,  when  they  came  to  that  obstacle, 
many  would  be  killed  by  others'  trampling  hoofs.  They 
would  fall  and  die,  and  their  brothers  would  beat  them 
down,  not  knowing,  blind  and  mad  and  merciless.  It 
was  a  stampede.  She  had  read  of  such  things  happening 
among  wild  cattle  in  the  West.  Poor  creatures,  poor 
stupid  brutes,  how  sorry,  how  sickeningly  sorry  she  was 
for  them!  Who  could  have  fired  the  shot,  and  why? 
Men  on  horses  were  in  sight  now  —  two,  she  thought  — 
no,  three,  galloping  fast,  but  far  behind  the  drove.  They 
could  do  no  good.  Only  the  fence  would  stop  the  rush, 
she  told  herself,  through  the  poundings  of  her  heart- 
Then  —  then  —  it  was  as  if  a  loud  voice  cried  the  ques- 
tion in  her  ears  —  Would  the  fence  stop  it  ? 

If  not  —  "May  God  help  me! "  she  heard  herself  saying. 
For  an  instant  she  stared  at  the  oncoming  black  wave 
which  swept  on,  faster  and  faster  toward  her,  so  incredibly* 
terribly  fast  now  that  in  another  second  she  knew  they 
would  break  down  the  line  of  wire  fence.  The  cattle,  those 
that  were  not  trampled  to  death,  would  soon  pour  through 
the  gap,  would  sweep  on  and  on,  overhwelming  this  hill 
where  she  stood. 

Strange,  some  lines  of  a  poem  were  saying  themselves  in 
Angela's  head.     She  had  read  them  lately,  since  she  came 
to  America,  the  story  of  a  stampede  and  a  girl.     Laska  — 
yes,  that  was  the  name  —  loved  a  man,  and  saved  him 


THE  DARK  CLOUD  343 

from  the  rush  of  wild  cattle  by  covering  his  body  with  hers, 
protecting  it  with  her  bleeding  flesh  from  the  blows  of  the 
iron  hoofs. 

Nick  had  given  her  the  book.  She  had  been  in  a  train 
when  she  read  the  story  of  Laska.  She  saw  herself  sitting 
safely  and  cosily  in  a  stateroom,  all  panelled  satinwood 
and  green  velvet.  Now 

Blindly  she  started  to  run.  It  was  useless,  she  knew, 
for  the  fence  was  certain  to  go,  and  she  could  no  more 
outrun  that  black  billow  of  death  than  she  could  outrace 
one  of  Paolo  di  Serene's  aeroplanes.  Yet  instinct  made 
her  run  toward  the  far-off  road,  away  from  the  plunging, 
bellowing  cattle.  She  thought  of  Hilliard,  and  how  he 
would  hate  to  hear  of  the  death  she  had  died.  He 
would  give  his  life  for  hers,  as  Laska  had  given  her 
life  for  her  lover. 


XXIX 
THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS 

JUST  as  Nick  was  finishing  a  somewhat  hurried  and 
sketchy  luncheon  a  telegram  was  handed  to  him.  It 
was  from  Max  Wisler,  the  San  Francisco  detective,  and  it 
said  laconically,  "Don't  let  A.  M.  visit  C.  G." 

As  Nick  read,  the  blood  rushed  to  his  forehead,  and  he 
sprang  to  his  feet,  knocking  over  the  chair  in  which  he  had 
been  sitting. 

Max  Wisler  had  not  been  told  by  him  that  Mrs.  May  was 
to  visit  Mrs.  Gaylor;  but  that  must  be  what  he  meant.  It 
had  not  occurred  to  Nick  that  it  could  be  necessary  to 
mention  Angela's  brief  stay,  in  telling  Wisler  that  he  him- 
self was  "running  up  to  Lucky  Star."  The  detective  must 
have  found  out  in  some  ferreting  way  of  his  own.  And 
he  had  telegraphed,  "Don't  let  A.  M.  visit  C.  G." 
What  could  be  his  reason?  Then  suddenly  a  dread- 
ful explanation  flashed  into  Nick's  head;  flashed 
there  and  stayed,  as  if  printed  in  letters  of  blood  on  his 
brain. 

Wisler  had  been  right  after  all.  He  had  found  out  who 
sent  the  box  of  poison  oak.  Those  hateful  questions  of  his, 
so  much  resented,  had  been  justified.  There  could  be 
no  other  explanation.  Nothing  else  could  excuse  this 
warning.  It  seemed  too  hideous  to  be  true  that  Wisler  had 

344 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS  345 

telegraphed  because  there  was  danger  for  Angela,  and 

yet 

Nick  did  not  wait  to  finish  out  the  sentence  in  his  mind. 
The  Japanese  servant,  who  was  cook  and  valet  and  cham- 
berman,  had  brought  the  telegram  and  the  last  luncheon 
dish  at  the  same  time.  Now  he  was  providing  Billy  the 
chauffeur  with  something  to  eat.  But  Nick  did  not  wait 
or  even  think  about  Billy.  The  engagement  with  Mrs. 
Gaylor  and  Angela  was  for  five  o'clock,  but  that  made  no 
difference  to  Nick,  with  the  telegram  in  his  hand.  Knowing 
what  he  knew  —  for  he  did  know  now,  as  if  he  had  seen  all 
Wisler's  proofs  —  he  would  not  trust  Angela  alone  with 
Carmen  for  a  single  hour.  He  was  going  this  instant  to 
snatch  her  away,  with  no  matter  what  excuse.  He  would 
think  of  something  to  satisfy  Angela,  for  she  must  not  find 
out  the  truth  if  he  could  help  it  —  anyhow,  not  while  she 
was  under  Carmen's  roof;  it  would  shock  and  distress  her 
too  much.  The  principal  thing  was  to  get  her  out  of  the 
place  quickly  and  quietly.  As  for  Carmen  —  he  could 
not  decide  yet  how  he  should  deal  with  Carmen.  Loyal  as 
he  was  by  nature,  and  as  he  had  shown  himself  to  Wisler, 
modest  as  to  his  own  deserts,  and  slow  to  fancy  himself 
valued  by  any  woman,  he  could  not  now  help  seeing,  as 
Wisler  had  seen  the  one  motive  which  could  have  tempted 
Carmen  Gaylor  to  send  Angela  May  a  box  of  poison-oak. 
Many  little  things  came  back,  in  a  flood  of  disturbing 
memory;  things  to  which  Nick  had  attached  no  importance 
at  the  time,  or  had  misunderstood,  owing  to  his  humility, 
where  women  were  concerned,  and  his  chivalrous,  almost 
exaggerated  respect  for  his  employer's  wife  and  widow  — 
the  generous,  disinterested  friend  that  he  had  thought  her. 


346  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"What  a  fool  —  what  a  double-dyed  fool!"  he  anathe- 
matized himself,  as  he  got  the  motor  ready  to  start,  while 
Billy  still  ate  apple-pie  and  cream  on  the  kitchen  veranda. 
In  spite  of  Wisler's  catechism  he  had  let  Angela  accept 
Carmen's  invitation,  had  even  urged  her  to  accept.  If 
anything  hideous  happened  it  would  be  his  fault.  But  no, 
surely  nothing  would  happen.  It  was  too  bad  to  be  true. 
If  Carmen  had  committed  the  crime  of  sending  the  poison- 
oak,  it  must  have  been  in  a  fit  of  madness,  after  hearing 
things  —  stupid  things  —  from  Miss  Dene.  By  this  time 
she  must  have  repented.  She  could  not  be  a  woman  and 
harm  a  guest  —  such  a  guest  as  Angela  May  and  in  her 
own  house. 

And  yet  it  was  odd  —  he  had  dimly  thought  it  odd,  even 
in  his  ignorance  —  that  Carmen  should  have  followed 
them  out  to  the  Big  Trees  from  Wawona,  there  to  make  a 
"dead  set"  at  Mrs.  May.  She  had  said  that  her  choice  of 
the  Yosemite  for  rest  and  change  of  air  was  a  coincidence; 
that  she  had  not  known  he  was  hi  the  neighbourhood  until 
she  heard  the  news  at  Wawona.  But  suddenly  Nick 
ceased  to  believe  that  story.  She  had  gone  because  he 
was  there  —  with  Angela  May. 

As  he  thought  these  things  he  was  starting  the  car, 
getting  into  the  car,  driving  the  car  away  from  the  house, 
to  the  Gaylor  ranch.  There  was  no  bad  patch  of  road. 
That  was  an  invention  of  Carmen's  for  the  plausibility  of 
the  plan  she  had  sketched  out  to  Angela.  The  road  had 
been  finished  months  ago,  and  Nick  flew  along  it  in  the 
Bright  Angel  at  a  pace  which  might  have  got  him  into 
trouble  with  the  police  if  there  had  been  any  police  to  spy 
upon  him.  The  way  ran  through  disused  pasture  land 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS  347 

which  was  to  be  irrigated,  enriched,  and  grown  with  alfalfa; 
and  at  a  turn  in  the  road  he  came  upon  a  sight  which 
flashed  to  his  eyes  like  a  spurt  of  vitriol.  He  saw  the  wild 
cattle  break  through  the  fence  —  the  new  "bunch"  which 
Carmen  had  just  got  from  Arizona.  He  saw  them  strug- 
gling, and  trampling  each  other  down,  and  sweeping 
through  the  gap  like  a  wave  through  a  broken  dyke.  He 
saw  a  figure  in  white  running  toward  him,  and  knew  it  was 
Angela  May  —  knew  that  she  must  die  unless  he  could  be 
in  time  to  save  her. 

Nick  turned  the  car,  and  sent  it  leaping  off  the  road,  to 
bound  over  the  rough  hummocks,  billowing  under  the 
heat-baked  grass.  He  looked  like  a  dead  man,  with  only  his 
eyesandhands — his  strong,  firmhands — alive.  The  motor 
rocked  on  the  green  waves  as  if  in  a  stormy  sea,  and  groaned 
like  a  wounded  bull  —  one  of  those  who  had  died  there  at 
the  broken  fence,  with  then*  hearts'  blood  in  their  mouths. 

It  was  almost  on  her  now  —  the  wild  black  wave  —  with 
death  in  its  wake  and  death  in  its  gift;  but  he  reached  her 
first,  and  leaning  out  while  the  car  swerved  —  as  many  a 
time  he  had  leaned  from  his  galloping  bronco  hi  cowboy 
days,  to  pick  up  a  hat  or  a  handkerchief  —  he  caught 
Angela  up  beside  him.  Then  with  a  twist  of  the  steering- 
wheel  he  gave  the  Bright  Angel  a  half -turn  that  sent  her 
flying  along  in  front  of  the  cattle,  almost  underneath  the 
tossing  horns  and  plunging  hoofs.  Thus  he  shot  past 
the  surging  line  of  them,  since  he  could  not  turn  round 
sharply  to  run  before  the  wave  without  risk  of  upsetting. 
As  the  automobile  dashed  past,  the  cattle  surged  on 
irresistibly;  but  Nick  and  Angela  in  the  car  were  beyond 
the  reach  of  hoofs  and  horns. 


348  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Three  mounted  cowboys  saw  the  race  won,  and  yelled  a 
wild  yell  of  triumph,  but  their  duty  was  to  the  cattle.  They 
went  about  their  business  knowing  that  the  car  was  safe; 
and  Nick  neither  saw  the  men  nor  consciously  heard  their 
shouts. 

Angela  was  half  fainting.  Holding  her  up,  he  steered  as 
he  could,  slowing  down  now  lest  the  jumping  springs  of  the 
car  should  break.  He  drove  away  from,  not  toward,  Mrs. 
Gaylor's  house.  He  would  not  take  Angela  back  to  Carmen 
even  for  a  moment.  Yet  as  she  was  alone  and  swooning 
she  could  not  go  to  his  house.  He  caught  at  the  idea  of  a 
quick  run  into  Bakersfield  in  search  of  a  doctor.  But  when 
he  saw  at  last  that  Angela  was  slowly  coming  to  herself, 
drawing  deep,  sobbing  breaths,  her  eyelashes  trembling  on 
wet  cheeks,  he  eased  the  car  down  on  a  quiet  stretch  of 
road,  under  the  shade  of  young  walnut-trees  and  oaks. 
There  he  stopped  for  a  while,  in  the  cool  tree  shadows. 

"You're  safe,  precious  one,  safe,"  he  whispered,  as  he 
might  have  soothed  a  child.  "There's  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of  now." 

Angela  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  through  her 
lashes  as  she  had  never  looked  before.  "I  —  thought  of 
you  then,"  she  murmured.  "  I  thought  of  you  —  I  wanted 
you.  Just  when  I  expected  to  die." 

Her  eyes,  her  voice,  her  words,  broke  down  the  last 
barrier  that  held  him  back;  and  he  would  have  been  more 
or  less  than  man  if  he  had  not  poured  out,  in  a  torrent,  all 
his  love  and  worship  in  a  flood  of  words. 

"  Darling  —  heart's  dearest  —  do  you  think  I'd  have  let 
you  die  so?  I  must  have  felt  —  I  must  have  heard  you 
call  me.  It  had  to  be.  I'd  feel  a  thought  of  yours  across 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS  349 

the  world,"  he  stammered.  "If  I  were  in  my  grave  and 
you  wanted  me,  my  spirit  would  come  back  into  my  body 
to  serve  you.  How  I  love  you,  love  you,  dear!  It  can't 
be  that  such  love  can  leave  you  cold.  I'm  not  of  your 
world,  but  come  down  to  mine,  or  help  me  to  come  into 
yours.  Give  me  a  little  love,  just  a  little  love,  and  I'll 
give  you  my  soul." 

"Don't  —  oh,  don't!"  faltered  Angela.  She  raised  her 
head  from  his  arm  and  sat  up,  leaning  away  from  him. 

"I  know  I'm  a  wretch!"  he  said.  "I  ought  to  be  shot 
for  speaking  of  myself,  when  you're  all  broken  to  pieces. 
The  words  came.  I've  been  keeping  them  back  day  by 
day,  but  that's  no  excuse.  Forgive  me ! " 

"No  —  you  mustn't  use  the  word  forgive  —  when  you've 
just  saved  my  life !  It's  only  this  —  I  can't  let  you  go  on." 

"Not  now.    I  know.    But  some  tune " 

"No.  Not  ever.  Don't  think  I  couldn't  care  for  you. 

It  isn't  that.  I  could.  I But  I  mustn't  care.  It's 

all  impossible!  I  ought  to  have  told  you  long  ago.  The 
only  thing  is  to  forget  —  for  us  both.  Oh,  if  I  could  have 
kept  you  for  my  friend !  But  I  feel  now  that's  impossible, 
too.  After  this,  we  can't  be  friends,  can  we?  " 

"No,  we  can't  be  friends,"  he  echoed,  very  pale,  sud- 
denly weary  and  almost  broken  by  the  strain  he  had 
endured.  "But  are  you  sure —  " 

"Sure.  The  more  I  care,  the  more  sure.  Oh,  Nick, 
my  dear,  my  dear,  I  wish  you  had  let  me  die!" 

He  looked  at  her  strangely  and  very  sadly,  after  his 
first  start  and  stiffening  of  the  muscles.  "Would  that 
have  been  better  than  caring  for  me?"  he  asked  in  a 
voice  so  low  that  she  could  just  catch  the  words. 


350  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"Yes,  it  would  have  been  much  better,"  she  answered, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands  to  hide  the  tears  that 
burned  her  eyes.  She  was  too  weak  for  the  explanation 
she  would  have  given  at  sunset  among  the  redwoods. 
This  was  no  time,  and  she  was  in  no  state  for  explanations. 
She  could  only  feel  and  hide  from  him  what  she  felt,  or 
part  of  it;  for  if  he  but  half  guessed  how  she  loved  him 
and  wanted  his  love,  she  would  be  in  his  arms,  his  lips  on 
hers.  There  was  no  thought  in  her  mind  how  terribly  he 
might  be  misunderstanding. 

His  lips  were  white.  "Very  well,"  he  said.  "It's  better 
for  me  that  you've  been  frank.  All  the  same  and  all  the 
more  I  want  you  to  forgive  me  for  speaking  at  a  time  like 
this.  I  won't  offend  you  again.  Only  I  don't  take  back 
anything.  So  now  you  know.  Don't  try  to  talk,  and  I 
won't  talk  much  to  you.  I  don't  think  I  could  if  I  would. 
I'm  going  to  drive  you  to  Bakersfield.  But  shall  I  take 
you  to  a  kind  old  doctor  I  know,  who  can  give  you  some- 
thing to  pick  you  up,  or  would  you  rather  I'd  drop  you  at 
a  hotel?  For  —  I  can't  explain,  so  please  don't  ask  —  but 
I  mustn't  let  you  go  to  Mrs.  Gaylor's  again.  There's  a 
good  reason  why.  Maybe  you'll  know  some  time,  but 
I  don't  believe  it  can  ever  be  from  me.  I'D  fetch  your 
maid  and  your  baggage  when  you're  settled  somewhere. 
And  if  you're  strong  enough,  the  best  thing  wiD  be  to 
start  for  San  Francisco  to-night.  When  you're  there,  see 
Mr.  Morehouse,  and  let  him  take  good  care  of  you.  For 
it's  true,  as  you  said;  you  and  I  can't  go  on  being 
friends." 

Angela  opened  her  lips  to  answer  him,  but  could  not. 
He  started  the  car  once  more,  and  drove  on  faster. 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS  851 

"I'll  go  to  a  hotel,  thank  you,  not  to  a  doctor,"  she 
said  when  she  could  speak. 

Soon  the  news  of  the  stampede  among  the  new  bunch  of 
steers  from  Arizona  found  its  way  to  the  house,  and  Carmen 
was  told  what  had  happened.  The  rush  of  the  cattle  had 
been  stopped  by  the  time  she  heard  of  it,  but  only  at  the 
brink  of  the  big  irrigation  canal.  Two  fences  had  been 
broken  down  and  a  good  many  animals  killed.  Others  had 
had  to  be  shot. 

"Anybody  hurt?"  Carmen  asked  in  a  queer,  dry  voice. 
She  seemed  to  take  little  interest  hi  the  fate  of  the  new 
cattle,  though  they  had  been  a  costly  purchase. 

So  far  as  was  known,  nobody  had  been  hurt.  But  it  was 
too  soon  to  be  sure  yet.  And  there  was  no  one  who  could 
tell  up  to  that  moment  how  the  stampede  had  been  started. 
But  some  of  the  boys  talked  about  a  gun  going  off  mys- 
teriously. And  a  lady  had  been  seen  in  the  disused  pasture. 
The  boys  had  seen  her  running,  and  afterward  being 
caught  up  by  a  man  in  a  big  yellow  motor,  what  man  they 
weren't  sure  —  they'd  been  going  too  fast  and  were  too 
far  off  —  but  he  was  like  Nick  Hilliard. 

And  it  was  then  that  Simeon  Harp  came  on  to  the 
terrace  where  Carmen  was  standing  to  hear  the  story.  See- 
ing his  face  she  knew  that  things  had  gone  utterly  wrong, 
and  that  all  hope  was  lost. 

"Nick  will  know  what  I  did!"  she  told  herself,  as  the 
death-stab  of  failure  struck  her  in  the  heart.  "Maybe  he 
knows  already.  If  that  woman  has  told  him  how  I  sent 
her  out  alone,  and  how  I  lied  about  his  plans  being  changed, 
and  the  men  he  had  to  meet,  then  he  must  guess.  They're 


352  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

sure  to  compare  notes,  and  he'll  suspect  about  the  poison- 
oak. 

The  ice  of  despair  was  a  frozen  dagger  in  her  breast. 
Even  before  the  chance  came  for  a  talk  with  Simeon  Harp 
she  made  up  her  mind  what  to  do.  It  would  be  a  cruel 
wrench,  but  there  was  nothing  else.  She  could  not  face 
Nick's  look  of  loathing,  even  though  gratitude  for  the 
past  should  close  his  lips  upon  his  knowledge,  and  upon 
his  secret  thoughts  of  her.  To  go  away,  far  away,  this 
very  hour,  before  he  could  come,  would  be  a  confession  of 
guilt  and  of  utter  defeat;  but  to  Carmen,  crushed  and  hope- 
less and  ashamed,  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do.  She  would 
go  and  never  come  back.  She  would  live  in  the  East,  or, 
better  still,  in  Europe,  and  sell  the  hateful  ranch.  She  had 
received  many  tempting  offers  since  her  husband's  death, 
and  through  her  lawyers  she  would  accept  one  that  was 
still  open.  Life  here  would  be  too  hateful  with  Nick  for 
a  silent  enemy;  Nick  married  by  and  by,  perhaps,  to  the 
other  woman. 

The  excitement  of  her  decision  kept  Carmen  from  a 
physical  collapse.  Quickly,  if  a  little  confusedly,  she 
thought  out  a  plan.  There  would,  of  course,  be  a  ques- 
tion of  insurance  for  the  dead  and  injured  cattle,  she  said 
to  the  elderly  foreman  who  had  taken  Nick's  place  on  the 
ranch.  She  would  go  to  San  Francisco  at  once.  No  use  to 
point  out  that  it  was  unnecessary.  She  wished  to  go. 
That  was  enough.  And  she  gave  directions  to  every  one 
what  was  to  be  done  in  her  absence,  for  she  might  be 
away  some  days.  She  would  not  take  her  maid.  She 
preferred  to  travel  alone.  And  when  some  question  was 
asked  later  by  one  of  the  house  servants  about  the  guest, 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS  353 

Mrs.  May,  Carmen  answered:  "She  has  been  suddenly 
called  away  from  here  by  telegram.  I  don't  think  she'll  be 
coming  back  to  the  house.  There'll  be  a  message  for  that 
Irish  girl  of  hers  by  and  by,  I  expect.  Anyhow,  I  can't 
trouble  about  them  now.  Their  affairs  must  take  care 
of  themselves." 

Mariette,  Carmen's  French  maid,  hurriedly  and  sulkily 
packed  enough  things  to  last  her  mistress  for  a  week;  and 
by  the  time  the  trunk  and  bag  were  ready  the  carriage  was 
waiting  to  take  Mrs.  Gaylor  into  Bakersfield.  Everybody 
knew  that  no  train  would  leave  Kern  for  San  Francisco 
until .  night,  but  the  imperious  lady  was  in  no  mood  to  re- 
ceive extraneous  information.  She  had  said  something 
about  seeing  a  lawyer  in  Bakersfield.  If  she  chose  to 
waste  hours  there  it  was  her  business,  not  that  of  the 
household. 

But  driving  to  the  town,  Carmen  decided  not  to  go  to 
San  Francisco  by  that  night's  train.  She  had  had  time  to 
reflect  a  little,  not  only  upon  what  had  happened,  but 
upon  what  was  likely  to  happen.  If  Angela  May  suspected 
the  truth  —  and  Carmen's  conscience  told  her  that  this 
was  more  than  probable  —  she  would  not  go  back  to  the 
ranch.  Nick  would  not  let  her  go  there,  even  if  she  wished 
it.  He  would  send  for  or  fetch  the  Irish  maid  and  the 
luggage,  while  Mrs.  May  —  already  engaged  to  marry  him, 
perhaps  —  waited  at  his  place,  or  at  a  Bakersfield  hotel. 
In  any  case  it  was  almost  certain  that  "the  woman"  (as 
Carmen  called  Angela  always,  in  her  mind)  would  travel 
to  San  Francisco  that  night.  And  it  seemed  likely  to 
Mrs.  Gaylor  that  Nick  would  go  with  her  and  the  maid. 
Carmen  could  not  risk  an  encounter  in  the  train. 


354  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Arrived  at  Bakersfield,  fortunately  without  meeting 
Nick  in  his  motor,  she  hired  a  large  automobile.  And 
at  the  hour  when  Hilliard  was  being  informed  that  Mrs. 
Gaylor  had  gone  away  for  a  few  days,  on  business  which 
had  come  up  suddenly,  she  was  travelling  swiftly  by  road 
to  San  Francisco. 

The  car  she  had  engaged  was  a  powerful  touring  auto- 
mobile, with  side-curtains  of  canvas,  and  these  she  ordered 
to  be  kept  down;  for  she  had  some  wild  fear  that  Nick 
might  discover  her  plan,  try  to  follow  and  find  her  during 
her  journey,  necessarily  much  longer  by  motor  than  by 
train.  Always  by  daylight  she  was  peeping  out,  nervously, 
from  under  her  thick  veil,  but  the  Bright  Angel  never 
flashed  into  sight.  She  knew  at  last  that  it  would  not 
come,  that  Nick  did  not  mean  to  follow;  that  she  would 
not  see  him  again  this  side  the  grave;  for  she  did  not  intend 
ever  to  return  to  the  Gaylor  ranch.  Where  she  would  live 
she  did  not  know  yet,  though  she  thought  vaguely  of  some 
great  city  in  Europe  —  Paris,  perhaps,  where  there  would 
be  plenty  of  excitement  which  might  help  her  to  forget. 
Meanwhile,  the  thing  was  to  get  away  —  away,  not  only 
from  California,  but  even  from  America  —  as  quickly  as 
possible,  it  hardly  mattered  how,  for  luckily  —  the  one 
piece  of  luck  she  had  left!  — there  was  plenty  of  money. 
And  the  ranch  could  take  care  of  itself. 

The  day  Carmen  reached  San  Francisco  a  ship  happened 
to  be  sailing  for  Japan.  She  was  able  to  engage  a  cabin, 
and  went  on  board  almost  at  the  last  moment.  Among 
others  who  arrived  very  late  was  a  bent  old  man,  with  a 
worn  face  which  had  once  been  handsome.  Carmen  did 
not  see  him  till  the  third  day  out.  Then,  from  the  deck 


THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS  35i 

sacred  to  second-class  passengers,  a  pair  of  dark  blue,  red- 
rimmed  eyes  looked  up  at  her  as  she  leaned  listlessly 
on  the  rail,  gazing  down. 

Madame  Vestris  had  seen  in  the  crystal  a  man  standing 
beside  her,  a  man  in  shadow.  After  all,  it  was  not  Nick 
Billiard  but  Simeon  Harp. 


XXX 

THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN 

ONE  evening,  when  July  was  beginning,  Nick  Hilliard 
sat  on  the  veranda  of  his  plain  little  house,  which  he 
had  grown  to  love.  Swinging  back  and  forth  in  a  big 
rocking-chair,  he  smoked  a  pipe  and  thought  very  hard. 
As  he  thought  and  smoked,  he  looked  dreamily  at  a  young 
owl  in  a  big  cage;  the  owl  he  had  sent  home  from  Paso 
Robles. 

If  he  had  been  thinking  about  it,  he  could  have  seen, 
dark  against  the  pale  fire  of  the  desert  sky,  the  source  of 
his  fortune;  the  great  gusher  throwing  up  its  black  spout 
of  oil,  like  tons  upon  tons  of  coal.  For  the  famous  Lucky 
Star  oil  supply  showed  no  sign  yet  of  giving  out,  though  it 
had  been  playing  like  a  huge  geyser  for  many  months; 
and  already,  since  its  mysterious  birth,  many  younger 
brothers  had  been  born,  small  and  insignificant  compara- 
tively, but  money-makers.  If  Nick's  thought  had  not 
drawn  down  a  curtain  in  front  of  his  eyes,  he  must  have 
seen,  across  a  blue  lake  and  a  black  desert  created  by  a 
rain  of  oil,  a  forest  of  derricks,  like  a  scattered  group  of 
burnt  fir-trees  with  low-hung  bare  branches.  But  instead 
of  these  his  mind's  eye  saw  a  new  road,  shaded  by  walnuts 
and  oaks,  that  marched  in  long  straight  lines  between 
rough  pasture  and  irrigated  land.  He  saw  in  the  tree- 

356 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN        357 

shadows  a  yellow  motor-car  drawn  up  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  and  in  it  a  beautiful,  pale  girl,  hatless,  with  dis- 
ordered golden  hair  and  a  torn  white  dress.  He  saw  a  man 
with  the  girl,  and  heard  her  say  that  it  would  have  been 
better  to  die  than  let  herself  care  for  him. 

"Yet  she  did  care  for  me,"  Nick  told  himself  obstinately. 
"There's  no  getting  over  that.  She  said,  'You  mustn't 
think  I  don't  care.'  "  And  even  if  she  hadn't  said  it,  there 
was  that  look  in  her  eyes.  Could  he  ever  forget  the  look, 
or  cease  to  thrill  at  the  memory?  No;  he  knew  that  he 
could  not,  till  the  hour  of  his  death.  "It  was  because  I'm 
not  of  her  world,  that  she  couldn't  bear  to  let  herself  go, 
and  love  me  as  she  was  beginning  to  love  me,  I  know,"  he 
thought,  as  he  had  thought  countless  tunes  before,  in  the 
weeks  since  he  had  quietly  let  her  go  out  of  his  life.  "I'm 
not  what  she's  been  brought  up  to  call  a  gentleman,'*  his 
mind  went  on  drearily  preaching  to  him.  "I  suppose  I 
can't  realize  the  bigness  and  deepness  of  the  gulf  between 
us,  as  she  sees  it.  I've  only  my  own  standards  to  judge 
by.  Hers  are  mighty  different.  I  knew  there  was  a  gulf, 
but  I  hoped  love  would  bridge  it.  She  thought  no  bridge 
could  be  strong  enough  for  her  to  walk  on  to  me.  I 
wonder  if  she  thinks  the  same  yet,  or  if  the  feeling  I  have 
sometimes,  that  she's  calling  to  me  from  far  off,  means 
anything?  I  told  her  that  day  I'd  feel  her  thinking  of  me 
across  the  world.  Well  —  what  if  she's  thinking  of  me 
now?" 

Nick  had  often  debated  this  subject,  and  looked  at  it 
from  every  point  of  view;  for  after  the  first  blow  over  the 
heart,  a  dim,  scarcely  perceptible  light  of  hope  had  come 
creeping  back  to  him.  Knowing  from  her  words,  and 


358  .THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

better  still  from  her  eyes,  that  Angela  had  cared  a  little, 
at  least  enough  to  suffer,  Nick  had  wondered  whether  he 
might  not  make  himself  more  acceptable  to  her  than  he 
had  been. 

He  did  not  disparage  himself  with  undue  humility  in 
asking  this  question.  He  knew  that  he  was  a  man,  and 
that  honour  and  strength  and  cleanness  of  living  counted 
for  something  in  this  world.  But  if  he  could  become  more 
like  the  men  she  knew  —  hi  other  words,  a  gentleman  fit 
to  mate  with  a  great  lady  —  what  then? 

For  Nick  was  aware  that  his  manners  were  not  pol- 
ished. In  what  Mrs.  May  would  call  "society,"  no  doubt 
he  would  be  guilty  of  a  thousand  mistakes,  a  thousand 
awkwardnesses.  If  he  did  anything  rightly  it  would  be 
by  instinct  —  instinct  implanted  by  generations  of  his 
father's  well-born,  well-bred  ancestors  —  rather  than  from 
knowledge  of  what  was  conventionally  the  "proper  thing." 
If  Angela  had  let  love  win,  perhaps  she  might  often  have 
been  humiliated  by  his  ignorances  and  stupidities,  Nick 
reminded  himself;  and  for  him  that  would  have  been  worse 
than  death,  even  as  for  her,  according  to  her  admission, 
it  would  have  been  worse  than  death  to  go  on  caring  for 
him.  Perhaps  she  had  been  wise.  Maybe  he  was  "im- 
possible." But,  if  ever  she  suffered  a  moment's  regret, 
now  that  they  were  parted,  and  if  he  could  yet  find  a  way 
of  happiness  for  both,  better  than  cold  wisdom,  was  there 
no  hope?  It  was  of  a  way  to  reach  her  that  he  was 
thinking  to-night;  and  abruptly  the  big  chair  ceased 
to  swing  and  creak.  "I'll  go  and  see  that  chap  they  call 
the  Dock!"  Nick  mumbled  on  a  sudden  resolution, 
and  knocked  out  the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN        359 

A  minute  later  he  was  strolling  through  the  hot  purple 
twilight  toward  Lucky  Star  City,  one  of  the  queerest  little 
towns  on  earth.  It  had  not,  however,  the  remotest  con- 
ception that  it  was  queer.  On  the  contrary,  it  thought  it- 
self a  gay  and  pleasant  place,  singularly  up-to-date,  and 
lacking  nothing  except  water,  which  was  now  worth  a  good 
deal  more  than  the  fortune-giving  oil  of  which  it  had  too 
much. 

The  rough,  mostly  unpainted,  wooden  houses,  shops,  and 
hotels  composing  Lucky  Star  City  were  so  near  the  great 
oil  gusher  which  accounted  for  the  town's  existence  that 
the  front  rank  of  frame  buildings  was  peppered  all  over 
with  a  jetty  spray.  This  disfigurement  had  come  when 
the  gusher  was  at  its  highest,  and  its  black,  blowing  spume 
had  been  borne  by  the  wind  for  long  distances.  The  earth 
seemed  to  have  gone  into  mourning  and  to  be  spread  with 
a  pall  almost  as  far  as  the  boundary  of  the  ranch  which 
Nick  had  retained  for  himself;  yet  there  was  a  strong 
dividing-line.  He  had  kept  some  pasture  land,  for  he 
loved  cattle;  but  his  great  pleasure  had  been  hi  irrigation; 
and  literally  he  had  made  the  desert  "blossom  as  a  rose." 
Even  the  smell  was  different  when  he  turned  his  back  upon 
his  own  fragrant  alfalfa  fields,  and  drew  in  breaths  laden 
with  the  fumes  of  crude  petroleum.  But  he  was  used  to 
the  scent  of  oil  and  hardly  noticed  it. 

He  skirted  round  the  desert  lake  and  steered  clear  of 
another  lesser  lake,  formed  entirely  of  petroleum  from  the 
great  gusher.  By  day  its  greasy  blackness  glared  in 
hideous  contrast  to  the  blue  though  brackish  water;  but 
now  night  lent  its  ugliness  a  strange  disguise.  All  the 
faint  twilight  that  remained  glimmered  on  the  gloss  of  its 


360  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

surface  like  phosphorus  in  the  palm  of  a  negro's  hand;  and 
as  Nick  passed  on  toward  the  town,  stars  shone  out  in  its 
dark  mirror.  He  could  hear  the  thick  splash  of  the  gusher 
that  rose  and  fell,  like  the  beating  of  a  giant's  heart,  and 
from  the  brightly  lighted  town  sounds  of  laughter  and 
fiddling  came  to  him. 

Lucky  Star  City  had  no  suburbs.  The  whole  place  had 
grown  up  in  less  than  a  year,  and,  in  fact,  such  buildings  as 
had  existed  for  six  months  were  known  as  "old."  There  was 
but  one  street,  though  a  few  ambitious  landowners  had  run 
up  houses  in  "gardens"  at  a  short  but  haughty  distance 
from  the  "business  part";  and  at  night  the  town  was 
seen  at  its  best.  The  three  two-storeyed,  verandaed 
hotels  —  one  painted  white,  another  green,  the  third  and 
noisiest  not  painted  at  all  —  blazed  with  lights.  The  drug 
store,  the  jewellery  store  (for  there  was  a  jewellery  store, 
and  a  prosperous  one),  the  grocery  store  —  combining  a 
large  trade  in  candy  —  the  post  office,  and  the  dry-goods 
store  —  where  two  extremes  were  made  to  meet  with  a 
display  of  hats  and  shoes  in  the  same  window  —  were  every 
one  open  and  crowded.  Men  in  shirt-sleeves,  and  men  in 
khaki,  men  of  almost  all  conditions  and  nations,  sat  or 
lounged  on  the  hotel  verandas  making  music  or  listening 
to  it,  swapping  stories  and  yelling  with  laughter.  Away  in 
the  distance  at  one  end  of  the  long  street  —  which  had  no 
pavement  but  yellow  sand  —  there  was  a  shooting  gallery, 
and  every  second  or  two  was  marked  off  with  a  shot,  or  a 
shout  of  applause  or  derision.  At  the  other  end,  equally 
far  away  from  the  populous  centre  of  shops,  was  a  variety 
theatre,  a  mere  shanty,  run  up  in  a  day;  and  as  Nick  took 
his  way  toward  the  green-painted  hotel  he  could  hear  the 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN        361 

shrill  squalling  of  a  woman's  untrained  voice,  shrieking 
out  the  latest  comic  song. 

"Hello,  Nick!"  "How  go  things,  High-pockets?" 
friendly  voices  saluted  Hilliard  as  he  marched  through  the 
cigarette-strewn  sand.  And  he  had  a  laughing  word  for 
each  one.  Everybody  who  was  anybody  had  a  nickname 
at  Lucky  Star  City,  and  Hilliard  was  rather  pleased  with 
"High-pockets"  —  bestowed  upon  him  because  of  his 
height  and  his  long  straight  legs.  "The  Dock"  was  the 
sobriquet  of  the  person  he  had  come  to  see;  and  it  was  by 
this  name  that  Nick  inquired  for  him,  gravely,  of  the 
landlord. 

The  man  addressed  chuckled.  "I  guess  he's  gone  over 
to  Meek's  to  try  and  borrow  some  cash  off  his  dear  country- 
man. I  seen  him  strollin'  down  that  way.  Hope  Meek'll 
fork  out.  The  Dock  owes  me  two  weeks'  board,  and  I've 
give  him  notice  to  pay  up  or  quit.  London  hotels  may 
hand  out  free  meals  to  the  nobility  and  gentry  for  the  sake 
o'  the  ad.  But  this  ain't  London.  Nope!" 

"Is  he  nobility?"  inquired  Nick. 

"Blamed  if  I  know.  Puts  on  airs  enough.  Ain't  got 
much  else  to  put  on  now,  I  guess.  No  one  never  told  me 
you  and  he  was  chums." 

"No  more  we  are.  I  never  had  a  word  with  him;  but 
I'm  lookin'  for  a  few,"  said  Nick.  "If  he  can  make  good> 
we  may  do  some  business  together." 

"Huh!"  grunted  the  landlord  of  the  emerald-painted 
hotel,  which  had  received  its  colour  in  honour  and  subtle 
advertisement  of  the  owner's  name  —  Green.  "I  don't 
see  you  two  swappin'  canteens  any,  Nick,  but  it  ain't  for 
me  to  bust  into  your  game;  and  I  guess  if  you  sling  him  a 


362  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

roll  o'  your  good  greenbacks,  I'll  contrive  to  switch  some  o' 
'em  off  the  line  into  my  pocket.  That's  to  say,  if  you  give  him 
a  job  he  can  stick  to  his  bunk  and  his  grub  in  my  hotel." 

Mr.  Green  was  just  about  to  round  off  his  ultimatum 
with  a  spurt  of  tobacco-juice  aimed  at  a  passing  cat,  when 
he  checked  himself  hastily  at  sight  of  a  woman.  What 
became  of  the  tobacco-juice  was  a  mystery  or  a  conjuring 
trick,  but  the  cat's  somewhat  blunted  sensibilities,  and  the 
lady's  —  not  yet  blunted  —  were  spared. 

"Who's  that?"  Nick  inquired  in  a  low,  respectful  voice, 
when  Green  had  touched  the  place  where  his  hat  would 
have  been  if  he  had  had  it  on,  and  the  young  woman, 
bowing  with  stiff  politeness,  had  gone  by. 

"What,  don't  you  know?"  the  landlord  of  the  Eureka 
Hotel  replied  with  a  question.  "But  I  forgot,  you  ain't 
shown  up  around  here  much  since  you  blow'd  back  from 
the  East.  The  fellers  say  Noo  York's  kinder  got  your 
goat,  and  you're  sheddin'  your  feathers  in  these  lonesome 
wilds,  pinin'  after  the  theayters  and  swell  doin's  in  the 
Waldorf-Astoria.  But  I  tell  'em  'nope,  that  ain't  Nick 
Billiard.  He's  true-blue  to  the  Golden  West. " 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Nick.  "All  the  same,  I  don't 
know  who  the  lady  is,  and  I'm  sure  I  never  saw  her  here, 
though  I  have  a  sort  of  feelin'  I  remember  her  face." 

"Met  in  another  world,  mebbe?"  Green  chuckled. 
"She  ain't  no  great  looker,  though,  more's  the  pity  for 
our  young  sparks  that  could  do  with  a  noo  beauty  at  Lucky 
Star.  She's  no  chicken,  either;  and  her  face  is  the  kind 
of  face  that  to  see  once  is  to  forget  twice,  accordin'  to  your 
friend  the  Dook,  who's  great  on  what  he  calls  epergrams, 
when  he's  feelin'  well." 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN      ,  363 

"Oh,  is  he?"  Nick's  hopeful  expression  lost  some  of  its 
glow,  for  this  trait  of  the  Dock's  did  not  strike  him  as 
attractive.  "He  ain't  my  friend  yet.  But  you  haven't 
told  me  who  the  lady  is.  Maybe  her  name  will  shake  up 
my  recollection  box,  for  I've  seen  her  somewhere,  sure." 

"She's  Miss  Sara  Wilkins,  the  new  school-teacher," 
Green  replied,  glad  to  impart  information.  "She  was 
imported  from  the  fur  East  while  you  was  away;  called  on 
in  a  hurry  to  take  the  place  of  Mrs.  Pears,  who  died  on  us, 
right  in  the  midst  of  the  last  term,  poor  critter.  She  had 
no  way  with  youngsters,  Mrs.  Pears  hadn't,  though  she 
came  recommended  as  a  treasure:  so  p'raps  it's  just  as 
well  for  us  our  treasure's  laid  up  in  heaven.  We've  got  a 
surprisin'  lot  of  children  in  this  city,  for  such  a  young  one; 
but  our  men  are  doin'  that  well  they  feel  justified  in  sendin* 
fur  their  families.  We're  gettin'  a  mighty  nice  society: 
some  o'  our  ladies  from  the  East,  as  far  off  as  Omaha;  and 
'twas  the  minister's  wife  stood  out  for  this  Miss  Wilkins, 
an  old  school-fellow  o'  hern.  Pity  she  ain't  handsome, 
as  we  can't  boast  but  two  other  unmarried  gals  in  our 
set." 

Nick  reflected.  Where  had  he  seen  that  small-featured, 
conscientious  little  face?  He  seemed  to  associate  it  with 
some  agreeable  and  not  very  distant  episode;  yet  its 
intelligent  insignificance  was  so  overshadowed  by  the 
pleasantness  of  the  episode  itself,  that  he  now  tried  in  vain 
to  identify  it  with  a  searchlight  of  recognition.  "I  give 
up,"  he  said  to  himself  discontentedly.  "  Maybe  it'll  come 
to  me  later."  And  then,  suddenly,  it  did. 

The  new  school-teacher  at  Lucky  Star  City  was  the 
little  woman  who  had  arrived  with  the  Native  Daughters 


364  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

at  the  Santa  Barbara  hotel,  and  would  have  been  swamped 
by  them  had  not  Angela  taken  pity  on  her.  No  wonder  it 
had  been  an  effort  to  label  his  impression,  for  no  woman 
had  a  face  worth  the  name  of  face  for  Nick  when  Angela's 
was  to  be  seen.  But  perhaps  Miss  Wilkins  had  not  had 
the  same  difficulty  in  disentangling  him  from  among  her 
impressions  of  the  past,  for  she  had  flashed  upon  him  a 
glance,  bright  with  interest,  before  casting  down  her  eyes 
decorously  and  passing  on. 

"Here  comes  the  Dook  now,"  remarked  the  landlord 
of  the  Eureka.  "By  the  look  of  him  I  guess  his  country- 
man wouldn't  part  with  anything  'cept  a  drink.  If  he 
keeps  clear  of  the  liqour  belt,  as  a  general  thing,  it's  only 
because  his  fee-nan-shel  situation  don't  run  to  it.  I'll 
introduce  you." 

A  man  approached,  wearing  a  shambling  air  of  dis- 
couragement, until  he  saw  that  he  was  under  observation; 
whereupon  his  muscles  tightened,  and  he  pulled  himself 
together,  straightening  his  narrow  shoulders  and  throwing 
back  his  small  head. 

"Mr.  Nickson  Hilliard,  this  is  Mr.  Montagu  Jerrold, 
alias  the  Dook,  a  blarsted  Britisher,"  announced  Green 
affably.  "Dook,  this  is  Mr.  Nickson  Hilliard,  who  wants 
to  meet  you,  the  Lord  knows  why;  late  owner  of  Lucky 
Star  gusher  and  the  whitest  man  and  the  biggest  man 
we've  got  in  this  section.  His  other  name  is  High-pockets, 
as  I  guess  you  hev  heard,  and  it  might  be  Full-pockets  too, 
wuthout  steerin'  wide  o'  the  mark." 

Nick  put  out  his  hand  to  the  newcomer  who  had  a 
haughty  beak  of  a  nose,  little  forehead,  and  less  chin. 
Wretched  bit  of  flotsam  and  jetsam  on  the  sands  of  life, 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN        365 

one  keen  look  into  his  self-satisfied  light  eyes  was  enough 
to  learn  the  secret  of  his  failure;  failure  which,  go  where 
he  would,  seek  as  he  might,  could  never  be  turned  into 
success.  Nick's  heart  pitied  the  man,  while  it  shut  in- 
voluntarily against  him. 

Montagu  Jerrold  crooked  his  elbow  and  lifted  the  brown 
strong  hand  of  High-pockets  to  a  level  with  his  own  weak 
chin,  before  he  deigned  to  shake  it.  He  did  so  then  with 
an  air,  and  a  drawled  "  How  d  'y '  do?  "  which  was  the  most 
English  thing  that  Nick  had  ever  met  with  off  the  stage. 

"Little  brute,  I'd  like  to  kick  him  if  he  wasn't  such  a 
duffer,"  was  Nick's  reluctant  thought,  for  he  had  wanted 
to  be  favourably  impressed  by  the  Dook.  If  this  were 
really  anything  like  an  English  duke,  give  him  a  crossing- 
sweeper!  But  he  must  not  be  too  hasty  in  his  generaliza- 
tion. He  was  unhappily  sure  that  Mrs.  May's  position  in 
her  far-off  world  (world  for  which  he  was  deemed  un- 
worthy) associated  her  with  dukes,  earls,  barons,  counts, 
and  all  sorts  of  titled  anachronisms  of  every  nation.  Re- 
pulsive as  this  draggled  specimen  appeared,  it  might  know 
something  worth  his,  Nick  Hiliard's,  while  to  learn;  and 
he  was  not  going  to  give  up  because  of  first  impressions. 
He  had  not  met  Montagu  Jerrold  before,  but  had  heard  of 
him  often  during  the  last  three  or  four  months  since  the 
Englishman  "blew  into"  Lucky  Star  City.  He  was  a 
boaster  as  well  as  a  waster,  no  doubt;  for  according  to 
himself,  he  knew  "everybody  at  home,"  from  the  King 
down  the  whole  gamut  of  the  British  peerage.  Also  he 
"claimed"  to  be  an  Oxford  man,  and  it  was  that  which, 
in  this  emergency,  had  focused  Nick's  attention  upon 
him. 


366  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

The  landlord,  aware  that  Nick  had  a  "proposition"  to 
make,  excused  himself  when  he  had  brought  off  the  intro- 
duction; and  the  two  men  were  left  more  or  less  alone  at 
their  end  of  the  hotel  veranda.  Nevertheless,  so  compli- 
cated was  the  nature  of  Nick's  business  that  he  wished  for 
greater  privacy,  and  he  suggested  a  stroll  in  the  direction 
of  the  gusher. 

"You're  an  Oxford  graduate,  aren't  you?"  he  began. 

"Ya-as,  I  went  up  to  Oxford  from  Eton,"  drawled 
Jerrold  with  an  accent  which  Nick  disliked,  but  was  ready 
to  believe  in  as  well-bred,  because  few  Englishmen  to  the 
"manner  born"  had  happened  to  come  his  way.  "All  the 
elder  sons  of  my  family,  since  the  days  of  Charles  the 
Second,  don't  you  know,  have  gone  in  for  the  Army;  and 
that's  what  I  should  have  liked,  but  my  eldest  brother  has 
the  money  as  well  as  the  title,  d'you  see,  and  I'm  only 
third  son.  I 

"Yes,"  said  Nick  curtly.  "But  you  mustn't  worry 
to  tell  me  all  your  private  affairs  unless  you  really 
want  to.  Because  what  I'm  most  interested  in  is 
the  Oxford  part.  I  never  went  to  college,  nor  to  any 
school  for  the  matter  of  that,  except  a  night  one,  but 
I've  tried  to  make  up  a  bit  with  reading  all  I  could. 
I  suppose  I  don't  know  much  about  books,  compared 
with  you " 

"Oh,  I  was  never  much  of  a  grind,"  the  other  cut  in 
hastily.  "I  went  in  for  other  things.  I  was  cox " 

"  It's  etiquette  I'm  thinking  of,"  Nick  confessed  humbly. 
"You'd  be  born  knowin'  a  lot  about  that,  I  dare  say,  in 
your  family.  And  then,  being  at  Oxford,  too!  I  always 
notice  college  men  have  a  different  way  from  those  who 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN        367 

haven't  been  to  any  university.  It's  hard  to  explain  the 
difference,  but  it's  there." 

"Oh,  rather,"  agreed  the  Englishman.  "You  know 
our  King  himself  will  send  all  his  sons  to  Oxford  and 
Cambridge.  No  thin'  like  it,  my  dear  fellow,  what?  Our 
family " 

"  Could  you  give  lessons,  sort  of  object-lessons,  in  what 
to  do  and  what  not  do  in  society?  "  inquired  Nick,  eager 
yet  shy,  not  ashamed  of  his  motive  in  asking,  but  fearful 
by  instinct  that  he  was  not  getting  hold  of  the  right 
man. 

"Nothing  easier,"  returned  Montagu  Jerrold,  the 
prominent  gooseberries,  which  were  his  eyes,  looking  some- 
what less  thoroughly  boiled.  "  I  was  •thinkin'  of  leavin' 
this  beastly  hole,  don't  you  know.  Nothin'  in  it  for  a 
gentleman,  what?  But  if  you've  somethin'  to  offer  worth 
takin',  why  I  might  stick  it  out  for  a  bit,  I  dessay." 

Nick  longed  to  box  the  creature's  ears;  but  they  were 
well-shaped  and  might  be  the  ears  of  a  man  born  with 
etiquette  flowing  with  his  blue  blood,  through  azure  veins. 
The  shape  of  his  nose  wasn't  bad,  but  those  eyes  and  that 
chin !  They  were,  as  Nick  grimly  expressed  it  to  himself, 
the  limit.  Nevertheless,  he  would  persevere,  and  try  a 
course  of  lessons  from  the  Dook. 

They  began  to  discuss  terms,  and  Nick  did  not  bargain. 
Mr.  Jerrold  was  to  have  an  advance  payment  of  twenty- 
five  dollars,  on  account  of  fifty,  for  ten  "lessons";  and  he 
was  to  come  to  Nick's  house  every  evening  to  "supper"  at 
half-past  seven,  remaining  until  half-past  nine.  Billiard 
was  to  be  watched  through  the  meal  and  corrected  if  he 
did  anything  wrong  with  his  knife  and  fork,  or  his  bread; 


368  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

and  they  were  to  have  conversations  and  discussions  cover- 
ing various  imagined  emergencies. 

Details  were  arranged,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
Montagu  Jerrold,  whose  real  name  was  Herbert  Higgins, 
and  who  had  been  a  house  decorator,  employed  —  and  dis- 
charged —  by  a  small  London  firm.  Never  had  he  been 
inside  an  Oxford  college:  never  had  he  seen  the  King  — 
except  on  a  post  card.  He  returned  joyously  to  his  hotel, 
where,  as  Mr.  Green  was  lying  in  wait,  he  had  to  part  with 
most  of  his  advance.  And  Nick  tramped  home  torn  in 
mind,  fearing  instinctively  that  he  was  about  to  jump 
from  the  frying-pan  of  ignorance  into  a  fire  of  vulgarity 
at  which  Angela  would  shudder. 

Every  night  for  a  week  the  Dook  appeared  promptly  in 
time  for  Nick's  substantial  supper,  which,  by  the  way,  he 
advised  his  host  to  transform  into  dinner.  "You  simply 
can't  have  'supper'  at  half-past  seven,  my  deah  fellow. 
It  isn't  done  I  Dinner  should  be  at  eight,  at  earliest.  Our 
royalties  prefer  it  at  nine.  If  you  have  supper  it  is  after 
the  theatre  or  opera,  don't  you  know."  But  when  Nick 
stolidly  refused  to  be  such  an  "affected  donkey"  as  to  call 
his  evening  meal  by  another  name  to  make  it  sweeter, 
Mr.  Jerrold  did  not  scorn  the  meal  because  it  lacked 
refinement. 

On  the  seventh  night,  however,  Hilliard  gave  his  noble 
instructor  notice. 

"I'm  real  sorry,"  he  remarked  pleasantly,  "but  I  can't 
help  it.  I'd  rather  go  on  as  I  am,  and  pin  myself  to  a 
prickly  pear,  than  shine  in  society  by  doing  any  of  these 
monkey  tricks  you've  been  tryin'  to  put  me  on  to.  You 
say  they're  'the  thing'  and  the  newest  dope  and  all  that, 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN        369 

and  maybe  they're  real  nice  for  your  sort,  but  I  tell  you 
they're  noLfor  mine!  It  seems  to  me  you  know  a  wonderful 
lot  of  fool  things  that  ain't  so.,  arid  I  can't  yoke  up  with 
'em.  What's  more,  I  don't  mean  to.  And  now  I  see 
they're  the  only  cards  you've  got  in  your  hand  I  don't 
want  any  more  dealt  out  to  me  —  Hook  up  my  little  finger 
when  I  come  to  grips  with  a  coffee-cup !  No,  thank  you !  I 
see  myself  doin'  it  or  any  other  of  the  pussy-cat  isms  you've 
been  tryin'  to  unload  on  me.  And  you  drop  your  *g's' 
just  as  bad  as  I  do.  No,  you'll  have  to  switch  off,  doc; 
and  after  to-night  you  can  go  your  way  and  I'll  go  mine, 
for  there's  nothin'  doin'  here  for  you  except  this  little  roll 
of  bills.  Good  night,  bud.  That's  all  the  trumps  in  the 
game!" 

But  the  bills  —  which  were  the  trumps  for  Jerrold  — 
amounted  to  fifty  dollars  more  than  he  had  been  promised 
for  the  whole  course  of  lessons.  So  he  had  not  done  badly 
after  all.  And  leaving  Lucky  Star  City,  which  had  no  oil 
nor  milk  of  human  kindness  for  him,  he  drifted  on  some- 
where else,  as  he  will  continue  to  drift  until  he  stumbles 
into  an  ignominious  grave. 

But  Nick  was  angry  and  thwarted  —  angry  with  himself 
because  he  had  been  a  fool,  and  thwarted  because  he  re- 
mained as  before,  handicapped  by  his  own  ignorance.  In 
spite  of  Jerrold's  boasts,  Nick's  instinct  had  told  him  after 
the  first  words  exchanged  that  the  man  was  not  only  a 
cad,  but  a  rank  pretender.  Still,  in  his  desire  for  social 
knowledge,  he  had  refused  at  first  to  listen  to  the  voice  of 
instinct  and  had  been  punished  for  obtuseness.  The  very 
thought  of  the  little  drawling  outsider  who  had  delighted 
in  his  sobriquet  of  "the  Dook"  made  Hilliard  feel  sick, 


370  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

and  he  opened  wide  all  the  windows  and  doors  when  the 
contemptible  creature  went  out  of  the  house.  "  Wanted 
to  turn  me  into  a  dry-goods  clerk,  did  he?  "  Nick  grumbled. 
And  the  episode  was  closed. 

One  afternoon,  not  many  days  after  the  expulsion  of 
Montagu  Jerrold,  Nick  kept  a  long-made  promise,  by 
going  to  call  on  the  wife  of  the  Presbyterian  minister,  the 
only  professional  purveyor  of  religion  who  had  yet  settled 
in  Lucky  Star  City.  Mrs.  Kenealy  was  out,  but  was 
coming  back  soon,  and  Nick  was  urged  by  her  small  daugh- 
ter to  wait.  This  he  consented  to  do,  and  found  the 
school-teacher  also  waiting  in  the  pleasant  little  "liv- 
ing-room." 

The  young  man  and  woman  were  introduced  by  the 
child,  who,  then  relieved  of  responsibility,  left  them  to  each 
other's  mercy,  and  flew  to  a  friend  with  whom  she  had 
been  playing  dolls  on  the  back  porch. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  remember  me,"  said  Miss  Sara 
Wilkins  rather  wistfully.  "But  I  remember  you  very 
well." 

"So  do  I  you,"  Nick  was  glad  to  reply  with  truth;  and 
his  heart  warmed  to  the  wisp  of  a  woman  to  whom  Miss 
Dene  had  been  catty  and  Mrs.  May  kind.  "It  was  at 
Santa  Barbara." 

"Why,  you  do  remember!"  she  exclaimed  delightedly. 
"I  never  thought  you  would.  I  always  think  there's 
nothing  about  me  that  any  one  could  recollect.  Oh,  would 
you  mind  telling  me  how  that  lovely  lady  is  who  was  so 
good  to  me?  I  often  think  about  her.  She  was  the  most 
beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

Nick  could  have  kissed  her  hands  —  little  thin  hands  — 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN        371 

kissed  them  even  in  their  gray  lisle-thread  gloves.  Need- 
less to  say,  however,  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  He 
answered  quietly  that  it  was  now  some  time  since  he  had 
seen  Mrs.  May,  but  he  supposed  she  was  well,  and  still  hi 
California,  probably  in  San  Francisco.  She  was  planning 
to  build  a  house  near  Monterey.  Though  his  voice  and 
manner  were  particularly  calm,  his  eyes  were  as  wistful, 
perhaps,  as  the  school-teacher's  smile  had  been.  And  just 
because  Sara  Wilkins  knew  well  what  it  was  to  be  wistful 
and  try  to  hide  it,  perhaps  she  saw  more  clearly  than  a  more 
attractive  woman  would.  "Something  had  happened," 
she  said  to  herself.  That  splendid  young  couple,  about 
whom  she  had  built  up  such  a  gorgeous  romance,  had  been 
parted,  and  this  handsome  fellow  with  the  kind  smile  and 
heroic  shoulders  was  unhappy,  far  unhappier  than  Sara 
Wilkins  had  ever  been,  strange  as  that  might  seem  —  he 
who  had  looked  so  fortunate !  Sara  wondered  if  the  lovely 
lady  were  unhappy,  too,  or  if  she  had  been  cruel;  and 
because  Miss  Wilkins  adored  romance  (having  nothing 
more  personally  her  own  to  adore),  not  because  she  was 
naturally  curious,  the  little  woman  positively  ached  to 
know  the  story. 

They  had  nearly  half  an  hour  together  she  and  Nick 
before  Mrs.  Kenealy  returned,  and  in  that  time  they  had 
come  close  to  the  beginning  of  a  friendship,  each  being 
secretly  in  need  of  sympathy,  and  dimly  detecting  the 
need  in  the  other.  Their  liking  for  one  another  enchanted 
Mrs.  Kenealy,  who  was  a  born  matchmaker.  To  be  sure, 
Miss  Sara  Wilkins  was  not  pretty,  and  would  never  see 
twenty-nine  again,  but  she  was  a  good  girl,  clever  and 
affectionate,  and  would  make  Nick  Hilliard  the  best  of 


372  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

wives  if  only  he  could  be  brought  to  see  it.  She  sat  be- 
tween them,  chattily  telling  each  one  nice  things  about  the 
other,  and  soon  she  suggested  bringing  Miss  Wilkins  to 
visit  Nick's  ranch.  School  was  off  now,  and  the  poor  dear 
had  nothing  to  do  but  read  and  write  letters  home, 
whither  it  cost  far  too  much  to  return  for  only  a  few  weeks. 
Nick  said  that  he  would  be  delighted;  and  offered  to  send 
Miss  Wilkins  as  many  books  as  she  liked  to  her  boarding 
house.  Books  were  great  friends  of  his,  he  admitted 
somewhat  shyly.  She  was  welcome  to  borrow  any  she 
cared  to  have. 

They  saw  a  good  deal  of  each  other  during  the  next 
fortnight,  too  much  for  the  school-teacher's  peace  of  mind; 
for  the  oftener  they  met  the  more  was  she  convinced  that 
Nick  was  in  love,  perhaps  hopelessly  in  love,  with  another 
woman  as  different  from  herself  as  a  lily  from  a  dusty 
sprig  of  lavender.  Then,  one  day  when  Nick  had  started 
to  carry  her  some  books  and  they  had  met  on  the  way,  the 
two  sat  down  and  talked  by  the  side  of  the  blue,  brackish 
lake,  sheltering  from  tne  sun  behind  a  bank  of  yellow  sand 
that  was  like  the  high  back  of  a  queerly  shaped  throne. 
At  a  distance  passed  Green,  the  landlord  of  the  Eureka, 
out  walking  with  his  little  daughter,  and  in  speaking  of 
him  and  the  odd  folk  who  stopped  at  the  green  hotel 
the  "Dook"  was  mentioned.  He  had  disappeared  from 
Lucky  Star  City  some  time  before,  but  Miss  Wilkins  had 
met  and  disliked  him. 

"Horrid  little  pretentious  toad!"  she  exclaimed  sharply. 
"He  was  always  talking  to  every  one  he  could  get  hold  of 
about  his  family  and  his  swell  friends  and  Oxford.  But  I 
don't  believe  any  of  his  stories.  He  was  just  worse  than 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN        373 

nobody  at  all;  and  East  I've  met  real  nice  Englishmen  who 
had  a  lovely  accent,  and  wouldn't  be  found  dead  drawling 
like  he  did." 

Nick  laughed.  "You're  jolly  right,"  he  said;  and  then 
being  in  a  humorous  as  well  as  confidential  mood,  he  told 
the  story  of  himself  anf  Montagu  Jerrold. 

"Wasn't  I  a  Johnny?"  he  asked  at  the  end.  "Served 
me  right  for  trying  to  make  a  silk  purse  of  myself.  Can't 
be  done,  I  guess.' 

"But  you  are  a  silk  purse!"  Sara  protested  indignantly. 
"  How  can  you  talk  about  yourself  the  way  you  do  ?" 

"I'm  a  little  down  on  my  luck  these  days,"  he  answered. 
"Did  you  ever  read  about  the  moth  who  loved  a  star?  I 
guess,  when  that  moth  got  to  thinking  of  himself  and  his 
chances,  he  saw  himself  pretty  well  as  he  really  was,  poor 
old  chap.  Fusty  brown  wings,  too  many  legs,  antennae 
the  wrong  shape,  and  a  clumsy  way  of  usin'  'em.  I've 
gone  and  made  a  moth  of  myself,  Miss  Wilkins." 

"Maybe  the  star  doesn't  think  you  a  moth,  or  anyhow 
not  a  common  moth,"  the  little  school-teacher  tried  to 
comfort  him  loyally,  though  her  heart  ached  as  a  lonely 
woman's  heart  must  ache  when  the  man  she  could  have 
loved,  if  she  had  dared,  confides  in  her  about  the  "other." 
She  had  known  quite  well  that  there  was  another,  but  to 
have  the  confession  come  out  in  words  seemed  to  make  her 
feel  the  grayness  of  life  rather  more  intensely  than  she  had 
felt  it  before.  Yet  she  rallied  her  forces  and  longed  to  fight 
Nick  Hilliard's  battles  and  wave  his  banner  in  the  face  of 
the  enemy  —  if  enemy  there  were. 

"That's  just  what  the  star  does  think!"  laughed  Nick. 
"She  thinks  I'm  common." 


374  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Miss  Wilkins  stiffened  with  indignation.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve it  —  if  she's  a  real  star.  And  you  wouldn't  mistake 
an  imitation  one  for  real,  would  you?" 

"She's  the  brightest  star  in  the  heavens;  as  good  as  a 
whole  constellation." 

"Then  she  can't  think  you  common." 

"Well,  put  in  another  way.  She  thinks  me  'impossible' 
—  impossible  for  her,  that  is.  She  told  me  so.  But  I 
might  have  known  it  without  telling.  I  guess  she  thought 
I  would  know.  I  had  the  cheek  to  hope,  though,  that  I 
might  polish  myself  up  enough  to  pass  muster  in  a  crowd, 
even  a  crowd  of  her  sort  of  people,  and  that  she  might 
change  her  mind  about  me." 

"As  if  that  disgusting  little  Montagu  Jerrold  could 
teach  you  anything!" 

"I  found  he  couldn't.  Not  anything  she'd  like  me 
better  for  knowing." 

"If  she  doesn't  find  you  good  enough  as  you  are  she  isn't 
worth  loving,"  insisted  the  school-teacher.  "Oh,  I  know 
I'm  not  the  same  kind  of  woman  she  is !  I'm  only  a  little 
'provincial,'  as  I  expect  she'd  call  me  in  her  own  mind, 
but  —  but  I  can  tell  a  man  when  I  see  him." 

"Thank  you  a  whole  lot  for  sticking  up  for  me,"  said 
Nick,  boyishly.  "But  how  do  you  know  what  kind  of  a 
woman  my  star  is?" 

Miss  Wilkins  blushed  and  was  silent.  She  did  not  look 
pretty  when  she  blushed,  like  Angela,  but  Nick  thought 
she  had  one  of  the  nicest  little  faces  in  the  world. 

"I  expect  I've  gone  and  given  myself  away,"  he  said. 
"Well,  I  don't  care,  for  you're  so  good  and  sympathetic. 
You've  seen  my  star,  and  you  can  judge  just  what  kind  of 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  GENTLEMAN*       375 

a  blame  fool  I  was  to  hope  she  could  ever  really  care  for  a 
rough  fellow  like  me  —  care  enough  to  be  yoked  up  with 
me  for  life." 

"Are  you  sure  she  didn't  care?"  asked  the  school- 
teacher. 

If  he  had  "given  himself  away"  he  did  not  intend  to 
give  away  Angela.  "  I  told  you  she  said  I  was  impossible,'' 
he  answered  discreetly.  "Well,  thank  you  again  for 
listenin'  to  my  winnings.  It's  done  me  a  lot  of  good.  Now 
I've  talked  enough  and  too  much  about  myself.  Let's 
talk  about  you." 

"There's  nothing  interesting  to  say  about  me,"  Miss 
Wilkins  defended  herself,  with  the  faintest  sigh  that  only 
a  man  who  loved  her  would  have  heard.  "  We  won't  talk 
about  you  any  more,  though,  if  you  don't  want  to.  That 
book  of  Mr.  Muir's  you  sent  me  is  beautiful.  I've  been 
wishing  to  read  it  for  years  " 

So  they  fell  to  discussing  The  National  Parks  of 
America;  but  Sara's  heart  was  not  in  the  discussion, 
much  as  she  admired  the  book.  She  was  thinking  about 
Nick  and  Angela. 

"It  doesn't  seem,"  she  told  herself,  "that  a  woman 
who  could  be  so  kind  to  another  woman  as  she  was 
to  me,  when  she  didn't  even  know  me,  could  be  cruel 
to  a  man  she  did  know  and  like,  even  if  she  didn't 
love  him.  And  could  a  woman  he  loved  not  love  him 
back  again?  " 

Miss  \Vilkins  had  resigned  herself  long  ago,  or  thought 
she  had,  to  going  through  life  without  any  intimate  per- 
sonal interests  of  her  own,  and  when  her  heart  ached  hard- 
est that  night  in  her  mean  little  boarding-house  bedroom, 


376  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

it  was  going  out  most  warmly  toward  Nick,  and  yearning 
for  the  happiness  of  making  him  happy. 

"If  I  could  only  do  something!"  she  said  to  her  mossy- 
smelling  pillow.  "And  I  owe  her  a  good  turn  too,  although 
maybe  she  doesn't  deserve  it.  I  wonder  what  I  could 
do?" 


XXXI 

THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL 

THE  spell  was  broken  for  Angela.  She  knew  now,  if 
she  had  not  known  before,  that  it  was  Nick  Hilliard 
who  lit  the  world  for  her  with  the  light  never  seen  on  land 
or  sea,  where  love  is  not.  Some  quality  was  gone  from 
the  sunshine,  and  the  glory  of  the  golden  poppies  had 
withered. 

Back  in  San  Francisco,  living  in  the  rooms  which  he  had 
helped  to  make  beautiful  with  daily  gifts  of  flowers,  she 
realized  how  completely  Nick  had  meant  for  her  the  spirit 
of  the  West.  It  was  because  he  had  been  with  her  that, 
from  morning  till  night,  she  had  thrilled  with  the  joy  of 
life  and  excited  anticipation  of  each  new  day  which  had 
never  failed  or  let  her  tire. 

Every  moment  she  missed  him  and  wanted  him,  and 
would  have  given  anything  to  call  him  back  to  her;  but 
she  had  no  right  to  call,  for  what  had  she  to  give  worth  his 
pain  in  coming? 

Angela  was  an  anxiety  to  Kate  and  a  responsibility  to 
Mr.  Morehouse.  The  banker  would  have  liked  to  send  his 
friends  to  call  upon  Mrs.  May,  but  she  was  in  no  mood  to 
meet  people.  Then  he  suggested  that  she  should  go  to 
Del  Monte  for  the  summer  and  watch  the  beginning  of  the 
new  home,  but  she  dismissed  this  idea,  saying  that  as  the 
architect  had  not  yet  even  finished  his  plan  it  would  be 

377 


378  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

a  long  time  before  the  house  could  reach  an  interesting 
stage. 

"We  all  go  somewhere  in  summer,"  Mr.  Morehouse 
urged.  Whereupon  Angela  merely  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  You  who  live  here  may  want  a  change,"  she  said.  "  I've 
had  plenty  of  changes.  I'm  very  happy  where  I  am, 
thanks." 

But  she  did  not  look  happy,  and  Kate,  who  loved  her, 
realized  the  alteration  far  more  keenly  than  Mr.  More- 
house,  though  even  he  felt  vaguely  that  something  had 
gone  wrong  with  the  Princess  di  Sereno.  Kate,  who  knew 
well  what  a  difference  happiness  could  make  in  a  woman's 
health  and  looks,  guessed  that  the  loss  of  her  mistress's 
colour  and  spirits  was  connected  with  the  disappearance 
of  Hilliard.  A  paragraph  she  had  read  in  that  exciting 
number  of  the  Illustrated  London  News  had,  together 
with  some  vague  hints  unconsciously  dropped  by  Angela 
and  a  few  words  of  the  banker's  overheard,  set  Kate's 
wits  to  working,  and  thus  she  arrived,  through  sympathy, 
at  something  like  the  truth.  But  Mr.  Morehouse's 
diagnosis  of  the  case  had  in  it  no  such  romantic  ingredient 
as  hopeless  love. 

He  alone  in  America  (since  Theo  Dene  was  gone,  and 
Kate  merely  suspected)  knew  that  Mrs.  May  was  the 
Princess  di  Sereno,  who  had  never  been  a  wife  to  Paolo 
di  Sereno  except  in  name.  He  knew  that  the  Princess 
had  grievances,  and  that  she  had  left  her  identity  in  the 
Old  World  in  the  wish  to  forget  the  past  completely. 
Knowing  this,  when  a  certain  piece  of  news  came  his  way 
he  felt  it  his  disagreeable  duty  to  pass  it  on  to  Mrs.  May. 
And  it  was  the  very  piece  of  news  which  had  set  Theo 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL          379 

Dene  wondering  whether  Angela  "knew  about  the 
Prince." 

Most  California  journals  are  apt  to  give  local  matters  of 
interest  precedence  over  affairs  at  a  distance,  and  so  it 
was  that  (though  Angela  usually  glanced  through  a  news- 
paper every  day  or  two  during  her  travels)  she  had  never 
come  upon  Paolo  di  Serene's  name  except  hi  that  old 
copy  of  the  Illustrated  London  News.  There  she  learned 
how  well  he  was  amusing  himself  while  Mrs.  May  saw 
California  under  Nick  Hilliard's  guidance.  But  after  that 
came  a  blank.  She  knew  only  that  he  and  a  somewhat 
notorious  woman  were  making  ascents  together  in  an 
aeroplane.  But  it  remained  for  Mr.  Morehouse  to  tell  her 
of  the  sensation  the  pair  were  creating  in  Europe. 

There  was  a  woman  —  indeed,  there  was  invariably  a 
woman,  though  not  always  the  same  —  whose  flaunting 
friendship  with  the  Prince  had  fixed  Angela's  resolve  to 
turn  her  back  on  the  old  life.  The  woman  had  begun 
a  career  on  the  very  humblest  plane,  had  become  an  artist's 
model,  then  had  learned  to  sing  and  dance,  and  at  length 
her  reputation  as  a  beauty  had  made  her  name  famous. 
A  marquis  had  married  her,  and  when  his  heart  was  broken 
and  his  money  spent,  had  obligingly  killed  himself  in  an 
inconspicuous  and  gentlemanly  manner.  After  that  his 
widow  had  achieved  an  even  greater  popular  success,  and 
had  attracted  the  attention  of  Paolo  di  Sereno. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Angela  left  Rome,  and  what 
Theo  Dene  wondered  if  Mrs.  May  "knew  about  the 
Prince,"  was  his  hope  to  break  the  record  for  distance  in 
a  new  aeroplane.  Mr.  Morehouse,  who  took  one  or  two 
French  and  English  illustrated  weeklies  as  well  as  New 


380  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

York  daily  papers,  saw  these  things  as  soon  as  Theo  Dene 
saw  them;  and,  when  Angela  returned  to  San  Francisco 
from  Bakersfield,  he  told  her  of  the  Prince's  project. 

"I  reasoned,"  he  said,  "that  it  would  be  better  for  you 
to  hear  what  is  going  on  from  me  rather  than  be  exposed 
to  a  surprise  and  shock  from  some  London  or  Paris  paper 
lying  on  a  hotel  table." 

Angela  interrupted  him  to  reply  that  nothing  the  Prince 
di  Sereno  could  do  had  power  to  shock  her,  for  they  had 
never  been  really  in  each  other's  lives,  and  had  now  passed 
out  of  one  another's  orbits  forever.  In  spite  of  this  assur- 
ance, however,  when  Mr.  Morehouse  saw  the  Princess 
looking  pale  and  listless  taking  little  interest  in  the  plans  for 
her  new  house,  he  attributed  the  change  to  humiliation, 
or  possibly  even  to  fears  for  the  Prince's  safety,  for  women 
are  strange.  Luckily  she  could  not  be  annoyed  in  this 
new  country  where  she  would  make  her  home,  for  nobody 
knew  who  she  was  or  could  associate  her  with  the  Prince's 
eccentricities!  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Morehouse  thought  it 
natural  that  her  health  and  spirits  should  suffer;  and 
because  of  his  old  and  close  friendship  with  Franklin 
Merriam  he  longed  to  find  some  wholesome  distraction 
for  Angela. 

But  after  all  it  was  Kate,  not  he,  who  succeeded  in 
supplying  it.  Poor  Kate,  so  near  to,  yet  so  far  from, 
Oregon,  dared  in  her  insignificance  to  follow  her  mistress's 
example.  Though  she  would  have  had  a  hand  cut  off 
rather  than  "give  notice"  to  her  beloved  lady,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  she  was  pining;  Tim  was  growing  impatient.  His 
affairs  were  marching  well.  Something  had  been  saved  out 
of  the  disaster  caused  by  his  dishonest  partner.  He  had 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL          381 

got  in  with  a  "good  man,"  and  they  believed  that  together 
they  would  some  day  "beat  the  world"  with  their  apples. 
Already  they  had  obtained  a  London  market.  There 
wasn't  much  ready  money  to  spare  yet;  but  Tim  could 
manage  to  pay  Kate's  way  from  San  Francisco  to  Portland, 
and  on  to  his  place,  if  she  would  come.  Besides,  there  was 
her  nest  egg,  her  dowry,  from  the  sale  of  the  gold  bag. 

Of  course,  Kate  was  dying  to  go,  but  would  not  even  tell 
her  sad-eyed,  pale-cheeked  mistress  that  Tim  was  wanting 
her.  It  was  only  when,  one  day,  Angela  noticed  how 
miserable  poor  Kate  was  looking,  that  little  by  little  she 
drew  out  the  whole  truth.  Then  she  was  roused  to  interest, 
and  forgetfulness  of  herself. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  Kate,"  she  said  with  more 
animation  than  she  had  shown  for  weeks.  "  I'll  take  Mr. 
Morehouse's  very  latest  advice,  and  run  up  north  to  Lake 
Tahoe,  to  stay  till  my  new  house  is  born.  Then,  instead  of 
your  going  to  your  Tim,  he  must  come  to  you;  and  I'll 
give  you  a  wedding  —  oh,  a  beautiful  wedding,  with  a 
white  silk  dress  and  a  veil  and  orange  blossoms,  and  a  cake 
big  enough  to  last  you  the  rest  of  your  life.  You're  not 
to  make  any  objections,  because  I  shouldn't  be  happy  to 
have  you  stay  with  me  now  that  Tim's  ready,  and  you 
know  the  idea  always  was  for  you  to  go  when  I'd  reached 
my  farthest  point  north  and  nearest  to  Oregon.  Besides, 
it  will  do  me  good  to  plan  for  a  wedding.  And  I  mean  to 
give  you  your  trousseau.  You  shall  get  the  things  here  in 
San  Francisco  before  we  start  for  Tahoe." 

So  that  was  why  one  evening  Nick  read  in  a  San  Fran- 
cisco paper  that  "Mrs.  May,  who  has  been  staying  at  the 
Fairmont  Hotel  for  several  weeks,  left  last  night  for  Lake 


382  THE   PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Tahoe,  where  she  has  engaged  rooms  at  the  famous  Tahoe 
Tavern,  and  may  remain  for  some  time." 

Afterward,  when  he  sent  the  paper  on  to  Sara  Wilkins, 
as  he  did  send  papers  now,  with  parcels  of  books  and 
magazines,  she  too  noticed  the  paragraph. 

"His  star's  gone  as  far  north  and  as  far  from  him  as  she 
can  possibly  go  and  be  in  California,"  thought  the  school- 
teacher. And  because  Nick  was  right,  and  her  good  little 
face  hid  a  heart  that  was  still  better,  she  was  not  glad,  but 
very,  very  sorry. 

When  Kate  was  married  to  her  good-looking  Irishman, 
and  the  little  excitement  of  the  wedding  was  over,  Angela 
began  to  feel  rather  desolate. 

There  were  a  great  many  pleasant  people  at  the  tavern 
who  would  have  been  kind  to  the  stranger  if  she  had  let 
them  be  kind,  but  they  were  all  so  merry  and  had  so  many 
intimate  interests  of  their  own  that  their  goodness  to  her 
seemed  only  to  emphasize  her  loneliness.  Kate  had  in- 
sisted on  " lending"  her  Timmy  in  fact,  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom both  insisted,  for  there  was  no  doubt  in  their  minds 
that  the  black  cat  had  brought  them  good  fortune.  Now 
they  had  all  the  fortune  they  wanted,  to  "go  on  with," 
and  as  poor,  pretty  Mrs.  May  seemed  "a  bit  down  on  her 
luck,"  they  would  leave  her  Timmy  to  bring  it  back  again. 
And  really  the  topaz-eyed  creature,  in  its  becoming  jade 
collar  —  a  gift  from  Nick  Hilliard  —  was  often  a  comfort 
to  Angela,  curled  up  in  her  lap  and  purring  cosily  under  her 
book  as  she  read.  It  seemed  curiously  fond  of  her,  even 
fonder  than  of  Kate,  and  had  "taken  to"  her  from  the 
first. 

Angela  had  travelled  through  a  region  of  snowsheds 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL          383 

to  reach  the  lake  in  the  heart  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  the 
scenery  was  as  different  from  any  she  had  met  in  California 
as  was  her  mood  from  the  mood  of  the  south.  At  Tahoe 
she  was  a  mile  above  sea-level,  and  ringed  in  by  higher 
mountains  which  had  not  lost  their  dazzling  crowns  of 
snow. 

On  the  shore  of  the  long  blue  lake  that  mirrored  eter- 
nally, a  clear,  cool  sky  and  immense  dark  trees  —  pines  and 
cedars  —  Angela  felt  that  a  line  had  been  drawn  between 
her  and  her  California  past,  with  its  flame  of  golden 
poppies  and  flowers  of  the  forest.  Here  she  had  reached 
a  high  note  of  beauty  which  rang  crystalline  as  a  silver 
rod  striking  upon  ice.  The  place  gave  Angela  a  sense  of 
purity  and  remoteness  which  she  had  felt  by  no  lake-shore 
of  Europe.  The  charm  of  other  lakes  had  been  their 
villa-sprinkled  shores,  their  historical  associations.  The 
charm  of  Tahoe  was  loneliness.  She  liked  to  row  out 
on  the  water  alone,  and  rest  on  her  oars  to  look  down, 
down,  through  miles  (it  seemed)  of  liquid  sapphire  and 
emerald  blending  together. 

Tahoe  was  not  remote,  really  since  luxurious  trains 
had  brought  it  into  close  touch  with  San  Francisco  and  with 
the  East;  but  Angela  liked  to  cultivate  the  impression  of 
remoteness  as  if  she  were  a  nun  in  retreat,  and  the  beauty 
was  of  a  kind  that  called  to  her  spirit,  making  renunciation 
easier  than  in  the  luscious  south,  scented  with  lilies  and 
roses.  Tahoe  had  its  roses,  too;  but  its  chief  perfume  was 
of  pines  and  the  pure  freshness  of  breezes  that  blow  over 
water  and  snow  mountains. 

The  journey,  too,  had  prepared  her  for  the  isolation 
that  she  craved;  the  glimpse  of  tragic  Donner  Lake,  where 


384  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

the  pioneers  starved  and  agonized  in  1848;  the  wild 
Truckee  River  sweeping  its  flood  past  thickets  of  pale 
sagebrush  and  forests  of  black  pines;  the  tang  of  cold 
and  the  smell  of  snow  in  the  air;  the  lonely  farmhouses 
folded  among  green  hills;  and  the  primitive  look  of 
Truckee  town  with  its  little  frame  buildings  called  by 
pretentious  foreign  names;  Firenze  Saloon;  Roma  Hotel. 

Nobody  e'se,  however,  seemed  to  have  the  half -sad, 
half-delicious  sense  of  remoteness  from  the  world,  at 
Tahoe,  which  Angela  had.  That  month  was  very  gay, 
and  the  immense  verandas  of  the  tavern  were  flower- 
gardens  of  pretty  girls  —  those  American  "summer  girls," 
of  whom  Angela  had  often  heard.  They  swam,  and  boated 
and  fished,  and,  above  all,  flirted,  for  there  were  always 
plenty  of  men;  and  in  the  evenings  they  danced  in  the 
ballroom  of  the  casino,  built  on  the  edge  of  the  water. 

Angela  never  tired  of  going  from  end  to  end  of  the  lake 
in  the  steamboat  that  set  out  from  the  tavern  jetty  in  the 
morning  and  returned  in  the  afternoon.  The  captain,  a 
great  character,  let  her  sit  in  a  room  behind  the  pilot- 
box,  where  her  luncheon  was  brought  by  an  eager-eyed 
youth  working  his  way  through  college  by  serving  as 
steward  in  the  holidays.  He  was  in  love  with  a  girl  at  his 
university,  equally  poor  and  equally  plucky;  but  because 
she  was  earning  dollars  as  a  waitress  at  the  tavern,  the 
boy  thought  Tahoe  a  place  "where  you  couldn't  help 
being  happy."  Angela  thought  it  a  place  where,  more 
than  most  others,  it  might  be  possible  to  find  peace,  though 
happiness  was  gone. 

She  no  longer  opened  her  diary.  Never  again,  she  told 
herself,  would  she  keep  a  record  of  her  days.  But,  some 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL          385 

time  —  years  from  now,  maybe  —  when  she  could  read 
what  she  had  written  without  a  heartache,  she  would 
open  the  unfinished  volume  where  she  had  broken 
off.  a  sentence  in  the  great  redwood  forest.  She 
might  be  able  to  think  of  Nick  Hilliard  then  without 
longing  for  him;  but  that  time  seemed  far,  very  far 
away. 

One  August  evening  Angela  came  back  from  an  excur- 
sion to  the  top  of  Mount  Tallac.  She  was  tired,  and  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  dine  in  her  own  sitting-room,  then 
to  go  immediately  to  bed;  but  asking  for  her  key  she  was 
told  that  "a  lady  was  waiting  to  see  her;  had  been  waiting 
nearly  all  day." 

"A  lady!"  she  echoed.  Could  it  be  Mrs.  Gaylor? 
Angela  hoped  not;  for,  though  she  had  not  heard  from 
Nick  those  things  which  Carmen  had  feared  and  expected 
her  to  hear,  she  guessed  something  of  Carmen's  hate.  The 
fact  that  she  had  not  been  allowed  to  go  back;  that  Kate 
had  arrived  in  Bakersfield  with  a  story  of  Mrs.  Gaylor's 
being  called  suddenly  away  from  home;  that  Carmen  had 
never  answered  a  short  letter  she  wrote;  all  these  things 
roused  her  suspicions.  Indeed,  she  had  even  gone  so  far 
as  to  associate  the  box  of  poison-oak  leaves  with  Mrs. 
Gaylor;  and  now  the  thought  that  the  Spanish  woman 
might  have  followed  her  to  Tahoe  sent  a  shiver  through 
her  veins.  Who  could  the  lady  be,  if  not  Carmen  Gaylor? 
Who  but  Carmen  would  wait  patiently  for  her  coming, 
through  a  whole  day? 

For  an  instant  Angela  was  tempted  to  answer:  "I'm 
too  tired  to  see  any  one  this  evening."  But  that  would  be 


386  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

cowardly.  Besides,  she  was  curious  to  see  her  visitor, 
whoever  it  might  be. 

"The  lady's  waiting  in  the  veranda  now,"  said  a  hotel 
clerk.  "  She's  been  here  ever  since  morning,  but  she  went 
away  at  lunch  time  and  came  back  afterward.  I  don't 
know  what  she  means  to  do  to-night,  for  the  train  for 
Truckee  will  be  leaving  in  a  few  minutes,  and  she  hasn't 
engaged  a  room." 

Angela  went  out  on  the  veranda,  feeling  a  little  tense 
and  excited,  but  when  a  small,  blue-frocked,  gray-hatted 
figure,  dejectedly  lost  in  a  big  rocking-chair,  was  pointed 
out  to  her,  excitement  died  while  bewilderment  grew. 

Her  first  thought  was  that  she  had  never  seen  this 
countrified-looking  person  before,  but  as  her  guest  turned, 
raising  to  hers  a  pair  of  singularly  intelligent,  rather 
frightened  eyes,  she  knew  that  she  had  met  the  same  glance 
from  the  same  eyes  somewhere  before. 

The  little  woman's  face  was  so  pale,  so  tired,  her  whole 
personality  so  pathetic  yet  indomitable,  that  Angela's 
heart  softened. 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  asked  kindly.  "I  hear  you 
have  come  to  see  me,  so  we  must  know  each  other,  I'm 
sure " 

The  visitor  was  on  her  feet,  the  chair,  from  which  she 
had  sprung  with  a  nervous  jerk,  rocking  frantically  as  if  a 
nervous  ghost  were  sitting  in  it. 

"  We  don't  know  each  other  exactly,"  Miss  Wilkins 
hastened  to  explain,  as  though  eager  not  to  begin  with 
false  pretences.  "The  only  time  you  ever  saw  me  was  at 
Santa  Barbara  last  May,  but  you  were  very  good  to  me 
and  —  and  I  found  out  your  name ' 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL          387 

"  Of  course.  I  remember  quite  well ! "  Mrs.  May  smiled 
reassuringly,  for  the  poor  little  thing  was  certainly  terrified 
and  ill  at  ease  as  well  as  tired.  Angela  sprang  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  young  woman  was  hi  money  difficulties, 
and  having  remembered  the  loan  of  the  sitting-room  at 
Santa  Barbara  had  somehow  found  her  way  to  Tahoe 
in  the  hope  of  getting  help.  Well,  she  should  have  it. 
Angela  was  only  too  glad  to  be  able  to  do  something  for 
any  one  in  trouble.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again,"  she  said, 
as  if  it  were  quite  a  commonplace  thing  for  a  stranger  to 
have  dropped  apparently  from  the  clouds  in  search  of  her. 
"  But  I'm  so  sorry  you've  had  to  wait.  Perhaps  you  wrote 
and  I  haven't  got  the  letter  yet?  " 

"No,  I  didn't  write.  I  couldn't  have  explained  in  a 
letter,"  said  the  weary-faced  visitor;  "and  maybe  you 
wouldn't  have  wanted  me  to  come  if  you'd  known  before- 
hand. I  thought  if  I'd  travelled  all  this  way  though,  just 
to  speak  to  you,  you  wouldn't  refuse.  I've  been  two 
nights  on  the  way." 

"Oh,  how  dreadful!"  exclaimed  Angela.  "You  must 
let  me  get  you  a  room  at  once.  Some  people  are  leaving 
to-night.  They  surely  can  put  you  up  in  the  hotel." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  returned  the  young  woman, 
"but  I  couldn't  impose  on  you  as  your  guest.  You'll  see 
that  when  I've  told  you  why  I  came.  I  can't  get  away  to 
Truckee,  I  know,  for  the  train  goes  too  soon,  but  I'll  take  a 
room  at  some  simpler  place  where  it's  cheape  than  this." 

"We'll  talk  of  that  later,"  said  Angela  soothingly. 
"Now  I  hope  you'll  come  to  my  rooms  and  rest,  and  tell  me 
about  yourself.  When  we're  both  washed  and  refreshed 
we'll  dine  together  in  my  sitting-room  quietly." 


388  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"But  it  isn't  about  myself  I  want  to  talk,"  protested  the 
stranger.  "I  must  tell  you  my  name,  Mrs.  May.  Of 
course,  you've  forgotten  it.  It's  Miss  Wilkins  —  Sara 
Wilkins." 

She  didn't  want  to  talk  about  herself!  That  was 
puzzling  and  didn't  fit  in  with  Angela's  deductions.  How- 
ever, she  made  no  comment,  and  talking  of  her  day  on 
Mount  Tallac,  escorted  Miss  Wilkins  to  a  pretty  sitting- 
room,  which  in  her  absence  had  been  supplied  with  fresh 
flowers. 

"Shall  we  talk  first?"  Angela  asked.  "Or  would  you 
like  to  rest  and  bathe ' 

"If  you're  not  too  tired  yourself  to  listen  to  me,  I'd 
rather  talk  now,"  Sara  answered  with  a  kind  of  suppressed 
desperation.  "But  you  do  look  tired.  You're  thinner 
and  paler  than  at  Santa  Barbara!  Yet  I've  been  screw- 
ing my  courage  up  to  this  for  so  long  I  can  hardly  bear  to 
wait." 

"If  I  was  tired  I've  forgotten  it  now,"  said  Angela. 
"And  I'm  as  eager  to  begin  as  you  can  be.  But  you 
mustn't  feel  that  it  needs  courage  to  speak  out,  whatever 
you  have  to  say.  And  if  there's  any  way  for  me  to  make 
it  easier  for  you,  I  should  be  so  glad  if  you  could  give  me 
just  the  slightest  hint.  Shall  we  both  sit  down  on  this 
sofa  together?  " 

"You  sit  there,"  replied  Sara.  "I  don't  want  to  be 
comfortable.  I  couldn't  lean  back.  I'm  all  on  edge." 

"Oh,  but  you  mustn't  be  'on  edge'!" 

"I  don't  tell  you  that  to  get  sympathy,  Mrs.  May,"  said 
the  school-teacher,  "but  only  because  I'd  like  you  to 
understand  before  I  begin  that  I  haven't  come  just  to  be 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL         389 

'cheeky'  and  bold.  I  came  because  I  felt  I  must  —  on 
somebody's  account,  if  not  yours.  For  myself,  I  didn't 
want  to  force  myself  on  you.  I  didn't  want  it  one  bit! 
And  now  I'm  here,  if  I  could  do  what  I  feel  most  like 
doing,  I'd  run  away  as  fast  as  ever  I  could  go,  without  say- 
ing one  more  word." 

"You  almost  frighten  me,"  said  Angela,  her  eyes  dark 
and  serious.  "Have  I  done  something  dreadful  that  — 
that  I  ought  to  be  warned  not  to  do  again,  and  you  have 
come  to  tell  me  because  you  think  I  was  once  a  little  kind 
to  you?  Not  that  I  was  really  kind  —  for  it  was  nothing 
at  all  that  I  did." 

Miss  Wilkins,  sitting  stiff  and  upright  on  the  smallest, 
straightest,  least  luxurious  chair  in  the  pretty  room,  was 
silent  for  an  instant,  as  if  collecting  all  her  forces.  "No," 
she  answered  at  last.  "  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  say  exactly 
that.  And  yet  you  have  done  something  dreadful.  Oh, 
my  goodness,  this  is  even  harder  to  get  out  than  —  than  I 
supposed  it  would  be,  for,  of  course,  you'll  think  it's  not 
my  business  anyhow.  And  isn't  or  wouldn't  be  if  — 
if " 

"If  —  what?"  Angela  prompted  her  gently. 

Sara  Wilkins  swallowed  a  lump  in  her  throat  and  pressed 
her  lips  together.  They  were  dry  and  pale.  "Well,"  she 
broke  out,  "I'll  have  to  tell  you  the  truth  and  not  care 
for  my  own  feelings.  They  don't  matter  really.  It 
wouldn't  be  my  business  if  I  didn't  love  him  myself,  dearly 
—  oh,  but  not  selfishly !  And  he  doesn't  dream  of  it.  He 
never  will.  And  he  never  thinks  about  me  except  to  pity 
me  a  little  and  do  kind  things  because  I'm  alone  in 
the  world.  And  that's  all  I  want  of  him.  It  is,  truly, 


390  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

though  I  can't  explain  very  well.  I  just  want  him  to  be 
happy,  and  to  have  made  him  so.  Because  somebody  had 
to  act  if  anything  was  to  be  done.  And  there  was  no- 
body but  me." 

"Him!"  Angela  repeated  in  a  whisper.  Yet  the  name 
was  in  her  mind  now,  as  always  it  was  in  her  heart. 

"Mr.  Billiard,  of  course.  You  see"  —  desperately  — 
"I'm  school-teacher  at  Lucky  Star  City,  close  to  his 
place.  All  the  land  there  and  the  big  gusher  were  his. 
When  he  came  back  in[June  I  was  at  Lucky  Star,  and  we 
were  introduced.  He  remembered  my  face  dimly,  more  I 
guess  because  he  couldn't  forget  even  the  least  thing 
associated  with  you  than  for  any  other  reason.  Since 
then  we've  got  to  be  friends." 

Angela  did  not  speak,  even  when  Sara  Wilkins  made  a 
slight  hesitating  pause.  Her  heart  was  beating  too  fast 
and  thickly  for  words  to  come,  and,  besides,  there  seemed 
to  be  nothing  to  say  yet,  until  she  had  heard  more. 

"Don't  think,"  Sara  went  on,  gathering  courage,  "that 
he  confided  in  me  in  any  ordinary  way.  I  just  couldn't 
bear  you  should  do  him  that  injustice.  If  you  did  I  should 
have  done  harm  instead  of  good  by  coming  all  this  way  to 
see  you.  But  the  very  first  day  I  met  him  at  Lucky  Star 
I  asked  about  you,  and  I  —  saw;  though  he  only  said  he 
believed  you  were  in  San  Francisco  —  that  he  was  heart- 
broken about  you.  Even  at  Santa  Barbara  I  couldn't 
help  making  up  a  romance  round  you  both  —  you  so 
beautiful  and  somehow  like  a  great  lady,  though  you 
didn't  put  on  any  airs  at  all;  he  so  handsome  and  splendid, 
like  a  hero  in  some  book  of  the  West.  It  was  weeks  before 
we  mentioned  you  again  —  he  and  I  —  though  I  saw  a  lot 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL          391 

of  him  at  Lucky  Star.  He  was  kind,  and  it  was  holidays, 
so  I  hadn't  much  to  do  except  read  books  he  lent  me." 

Still  Angela  said  nothing,  though  it  was  evident  that 
Miss  Wilkins  would  have  been  thankful  at  this  stage  for 
some  leading  question  which  might  help  her  over  a  difficult 
place.  Angela  could  not  now  give  the  help  she  had  once 
offered.  Rather  was  she  in  need  of  it  herself.  She  sat 
waiting,  her  eyes  disconcertingly  fixed  upon  the  other 
woman's  flushed  face.  But  that  was  because  she  could  not 
bring  herself  to  look  away  from  it. 

"  Before  we  spoke  of  you  again,  what  do  you  think  he'd 
been  doing?"  the  school-teacher  went  on,  almost  fiercely. 

"Oh,  I  can  hardly  tell  you,  it's  so  sad!  If  you're  the 
sweet  woman  that  in  spite  of  everything  I  think  you  are, 
you'll  be  sorry  all  the  way  through  to  your  heart.  He  — 
he  hired  a  wretched  humbug  of  a  man  who  pretended  to 
be  an  English  swell  to  teach  him  manners,  so  that  he  could 
be  a  little  worthier  of  you.  He,  Nick  Billiard,  the 
noblest  gentleman  that  ever  drew  breath,  to  stoop  to 
learning  from  a  little  thing  who  called  itself  Montagu 
Jerrold.  He  did  it  because  of  what  you  said  to  him.'* 

"Oh!"  cried  Angela,  her  cheeks  scarlet.  "I  said 
nothing  —  nothing  which  could  make  him  feel  that  I 
didn't  think  him  a  gentleman.  I " 

"That's  what  I  told  him,"  Sara  broke  in.  "I  knew  his 
reason  for  employing  Jerrold,  because  he  made  up  a  sort 
of  allegory  about  a  moth  loving  a  star  and  trying  to  fly 
up  to  heaven  and  be  near  her,  or  something  like  that.  I 
said  that  a  real  star  couldn't  be  stupid  enough  to  think 
him  a  moth,  or,  anyway,  not  a  common  one.  And  he  said, 
'That 's  just  what  she  does  think  me,  common.'  I  knew  he 


392  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

meant  you,  though  he  didn't  speak  your  name  then.  And 
I  thought  to  myself,  'She  didn't  look  like  a  silly  doll 
stuffed  with  sawdust,'  I  did  you  the  justice  to  believe  that 
a  great  lady,  experienced  in  the  world,  would  know  and 
appreciate  a  mail.  I'm  just  nobody  at  all,  Mrs.  May;  but 
even  I'm  clever  enough  for  that.  I'm  sure  as  fate,  if  I  were 
acquainted  with  all  the  best  kings  and  princes  there  are 
in  the  world,  I  couldn't  find  a  better  gentleman  than  Nick 
Hilliard.  Yet  according  to  him  you  didn't  have  the  eyes 
to  see  what  he  was  worth.  You  not  only  turned  him  down, 
but  turned  him  down  saying  he  was  too  common  for  you." 

Angela  could  stand  no  more.  It  was  as  if  the  fierce  little 
woman  in  dusty  blue  serge  had  struck  her  in  the  face. 
She  sprang  up,  very  white,  her  eyes  blazing.  "  It  is  not 
true,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "He  couldn't  have  told 
you  I  said  that." 

"He  told  me  you  said  just  the  same  thing:  that  he  was 
'impossible.'  That  was  the  word  —  a  cruel,  cruel  word." 

She  was  up  too,  the  fiery  little  school-teacher,  and  they 
faced  each  other  —  the  tall  girl,  white  as  lily  grown  in  a 
king's  garden,  and  the  little  snub-nosed,  freckled  country 
schoolma  'am. 

"Do  you  mean  when  I  used  the  word  'impossible,' ' 
asked  Angela,  "  that  he  thought  I  meant  it  in  such  a  way  — 
meant  to  tell  him  that  he  was  an  impossible  person?  " 

"Yes,  I  do  mean  just  that." 

"You're  sure  of  what  you  say?" 

"Dreadfully  sure.  When  I'd  got  that  much  out  of  him 
—  somehow.  I  hardly  know  how  —  I  felt  wounded  and 
sore,  as  I  knew  he  was  feeling,  and,  would  feel  all  the  rest 
of  his  life.  Oh,  I'd  have  given  mine  for  him!  I  would 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL          393 

then,  and  I  would  now,  to  make  him  happy.  That's  why 
I  came  up  here  —  to  find  out  whether,  after  all,  there 
could  be  any  misunderstanding  between  you  that  could 
be  righted.  He  doesn't  know  I've  come.  He  thinks  I'm 
staying  with  a  friend  in  San  Francisco.  I  don't  want  him 
to  know,  ever.  I  should  die  of  shame.  I  wish  I  could 
talk  in  some  wise,  clever  way  to  you,  and  get  you  to  see 
what  a  mistake  you've  made.  He  loves  you  so,  Mrs. 
May!" 

Then  a  thing  happened  which  was  the  last  that  Sara 
Wilkins  had  expected.  With  a  stifled  cry  Angela  turned 
away,  and,  covering  her  face  with  both  hands,  sobbed  as 
if  her  heart  would  break. 

The  little  school-teacher  trembled  all  over.  She  had 
come  here  —  giving  her  time  and  money  —  far  more  than 
she  could  afford  —  and  her  nerve-tissue,  in  Nick  Hilliard's 
cause;  and  all  in  the  hope  of  making  his  "star"  see  the 
error  of  her  ways.  But  when  the  cruel  star  broke  down 
and  cried  uncontrollably,  in  anguish  of  soul,  the  hardness 
and  anger  which  Nick's  champion  had  cherished  melted 
into  pity. 

"I  do  hope  you'll  forgive  me,"  she  stammered.  "I  — 
I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  suffer  like  this.  I'm  so  afraid 
I've  done  everything  all  wrong!  But  I  let  my  feelings 
carry  me  away.  I  thought  if  you  loved  him  a  little  after 
all,  maybe " 

"Loved him!  I  love  him  so  much  that  it's  killing  me!" 
Angela  broke  out  through  her  tears.  "I  can't  sleep  at 
night  for  thinking  of  him,  longing  for  him,  and  telling 
myself  it's  all  over  —  all  the  joy  of  waking  up  to  a  new 
day  and  knowing  I  shall  see  him.  Ah,  night  is  terrible! 


394  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

I  pray  for  peace,  and  just  as  I  begin  to  hope  —  to  be  a 
little  calmer,  at  least  by  day,  out  in  the  sunshine  looking 
at  the  white  mountains,  you,  a  stranger,  come  and  tell  me 
that  I  don't  love  him!" 

"I  wouldn't  have  dared  if  I  didn't  love  him  myself," 
Sara  retorted,  choking  on  the  words.  "You  see  —  I 
know.  But  if  you  care  for  him  like  this,  if  you're  so  un- 
happy without  him,  why  did  you  send  him  away  broken- 
hearted?" 

Angela  flung  her  hands  up,  then  dropped  them  hope- 
lessly. With  no  attempt  to  hide  her  tear-blurred  face  she 
answered:  "I  sent  him  away  because  I  am  married.  I 
said  'It  is  impossible';  not  —  what  he  seems  to  think  I 
said." 

"Oh,  how  sad!"  The  little  school-teacher  was  con- 
fronting real  tragedy  for  the  first  time  in  her  gray,  con- 
scientious existence.  "How  sorry  I  am.  Forgive  me! 
But  —  you  know,  it  isn't  I  who  matter." 

"No,"  Angela  echoed.     "It  isn't  you." 

"You  didn't  tell  him?    You  gave  him  no  idea?  " 

"I  hadn't  a  chance.  There'd  been  an  evening,  a  little 
while  before,  when  I'd  meant  to  tell  if  —  if  anything  hap- 
pened. But  —  we  were  interrupted." 

"He  thinks  you're  a  young  widow." 

"Yes.  It's  only  in  the  sight  of  the  world  that  I  have  a 
husband  —  that  I  ever  had  one.  When  I  came  to  America 
I  left  the  man  for  good,  and  took  another  name." 

"  'Mrs.  May'  isn't  your  real  name?" 

"No.    I'll  tell  you  if  you  like  - 

"You  needn't.  But  you  ought  to  tell  him.  That,  and 
everything.  I  don't  mean  confess,  or  anything  like  that. 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  SPELL          395 

Probably  you  thought,  till  you  fell  in  love  with  him,  that 
there  was  no  reason  why  you  should  give  him  your  secrets. 
What  I  mean  is  —  oh,  the  difference  it  would  make  to  Mr. 
Billiard,  knowing  that  you  sent  him  away,  not  because 
you  looked  down  on  him  as  common  and  impossible,  but 
because  you  had  no  right  to  care!" 

Angela  stared  at  the  earnest  little  face  as  if  she  were 
dazed,  bewildered  in  a  dark  place,  and  groping  for  light. 

"I  had  no  idea  he  misunderstood  me  so,"  she  said  slowly. 
"If  I'd  guessed  at  the  time,  I  couldn't  have  resisted 
telling  hun  how  much  I  loved  him.  I  couldn't  have 
let  him  go,  so  wounded.  But  now,  since  no  happiness 
can  ever  come  for  us  together,  and  perhaps  by  this  time 
he  is  getting  over  his  first  suffering,  wouldn't  it  be  better 
just  to  leave  the  veil  of  silence  down  between  us?  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  him  all  his  life  long.  It  must  make  it  easier 
for  him  to  forget,  if  he  believes  me  a  'doll  stuffed  with  saw- 
dust,' or  a  snob.  He  can't  go  on  for  long  loving  a  poor  thing 
like  that.  And  so  he  will  be  cured.  Oh,  though  I  long 
to  send  him  a  message  —  I  mustn't.  I  mustn't  be  tempted ! 
Let  him  think  badly  of  me.  It's  the  best  and  kindest 
thing." 

"No,"  said  Sara  Wilkins,  "that  is  not  the  right  way; 
not  for  him.  It  might  be  with  a  vain  man.  But  he  doesn't 
get  over  it.  He  doesn't  stop  loving  you.  Only  the  pain  is 
worse  because  he  thinks  you  scorned  him.  Mrs.  May,  I 
implore  you  to  write  him  a  letter.  I  can't  take  a  message, 
because  he  mustn't  know  I  came  to  see  you.  It  would 
spoil  it  all  for  him,  I  think.  Write  as  if  it  were  of  your  own 
accord.  Don't  explain  in  the  letter.  Letters  are  such 
hard,  unsatisfactory  things.  The  best  one  you  could  write 


396  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

wouldn't  make  up  to  him  a  bit  for  what  he's  suffered  and 
what  he  must  go  on  suffering,  for  you  couldn't  help  study- 
ing your  words,  and  they'd  be  stiff  and  disappointing,  no 
matter  how  hard  you  tried  to  say  the  things  just  right. 
Ask  him  to  come  here  and  let  you  explain  in  your  own 
words  why  you  seemed  so  harsh.  Only,  warn  him  that 
it  isn't  to  change  your  mind  about  —  about  saying  yes. 
It  would  be  awful  to  rush  up  here  happy  and  hopeful,  only 
to  find  out  —  what  he'll  have  to  find  out." 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  Angela.     "I  care  too 

much  to  dare  see  him  again.  I  couldn't  trust  myself. 
j » 

"Ah,  but  you  could  trust  him.  He's  strong  and  high  in 
his  nature  —  like  the  great  redwoods." 

"Yes,  like  the  great  redwoods,"  Angela  echoed,  in  a 
whisper. 

"He'd  be  a  rock,  too  —  a  rock  to  rely  upon,"  Sara 
went  on.  "Do  this,  Mrs.  May.  Do  it  for  my  sake.  I 
know  it's  the  right  thing.  It  will  give  him  back  his 
self-respect.  That's  even  more  important  than  happiness, 
especially  to  him.  I've  done  all  I  could  for  you  —  not 
much,  but  my  best.  Do  this  for  me,  will  you?" 

"Yes,  I  will!"  Angela  answered  suddenly  and  im- 
pulsively. She  put  out  her  hands  to  the  little  school- 
teacher and  drew  her  close.  They  kissed  each  other, 
the  two  women  who  loved  Nick  Hilliard. 


XXXII 
AN  END  — AND  A  BEGINNING 

"COME  to  me  if  you  can.  I  can  give  you  no  hope  of 
happiness,  but  there  is  something  I  should  like  to  explain," 
Angela  said  in  her  letter. 

She  expected  an  answer,  though  she  asked  for  none;  but 
no  word  came  on  the  morning  when  she  had  thought  that 
she  might  hear.  Other  people  had  their  letters  and  were 
reading  them  on  the  veranda,  but  there  was  nothing  for 
her.  She  sat  there  for  a  while,  cold  with  disappointment, 
listening  to  the  tearing  open  of  envelopes  and  the  pleasant 
crackle  of  thick  letter-paper.  Then,  when  Timmy,  the 
black  cat,  suddenly  leapt  off  her  lap,  as  if  in  a  mad  rush  after 
something  he  fondly  hoped  was  a  mouse,  Angela  was  glad 
of  an  excuse  to  follow.  But  Timmy,  who  was  of  an  inde- 
pendent character,  evidently  believed  that  he  was  in  for 
a  good  thing.  He  darted  across  the  grass,  and  with  a 
whisk  of  eager  tail  disappeared  behind  a  clump  of  trees. 

"A  dragon-fly!"  Angela  said  to  herself.  For  Timmy 
could  not  resist  the  fascination  of  dragon-flies  —  a  bright 
and  beautiful  kind  that  spent  the  summer  at  Lake  Tahoe. 
She  followed  round  the  clump  of  trees,  and  there  was  Nick 
Hilliard  coming  toward  her  with  Timmy  in  his  arms. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "I  — I  thought " 

"I  was  afraid  you'd  think  it  was  too  early,"  said  Nick 

397 


398  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

as  quietly  as  possible,  though  his  voice  shook.  "I  got  in 
on  the  train;  and  after  my  bath  I  was  taking  a  walk 
around,  till  a  decent  time  to  call.  Then  Timmy  came 
running  to  welcome  me " 

"I  believe  he  must  really  have  seen  you!"  cried  Angela, 
grateful  to  Timmy,  who  was  saving  them  both  the  first 
awkwardness  of  the  situation.  "He  is  the  most  extra- 
ordinary cat  —  quite  a  super-cat.  And  you  remember,  he 
used  always  to  know  what  tune  you  were  coming  to  call 
when  we  were  in  San  Francisco." 

Owing  to  Timmy,  they  were  spared  a  meeting  on  the 
veranda,  and  Angela  did  not  offer  to  take  her  visitor  into 
the  house  yet. 

There  were  some  quiet  places  in  the  garden  in  the  deep 
shadow  of  trees,  where  she  could  say  what  she  had  to  say 
better  than  between  four  walls.  They  strolled  on,  Nick 
holding  Timmy,  who  purred  loudly,  as  if  glad  to  welcome 
the  giver  of  his  jade  collar. 

"I  got  your  letter  just  in  time  to  catch  the  train  for  San 
Francisco,  and  then  to  get  on  here,"  Hilliard  explained. 
"Of  course,  you  knew  I'd  come  at  once." 

"No  —  I  wasn't  sure.  I  thought  —  I  might  hear  from 
you  this  morning  —  a  telegram  or  letter,"  Angela  stam- 
mered. "But  —  I'm  glad,  very  glad.  It  was  good  of 
you  to  come,  and  so  soon." 

"Good!" 

"I  wanted  so  much  to  talk  to  you.  I've  been  wanting 
it  for  a  long  time.  Ever  since  —  we  parted.  But  it  was 
only  the  other  night  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  had  any 
right  ,to  send  for  you." 

"What  did  I  say  to  you  that  last  day  about  coming 


AN  END  — AND  A  BEGINNING  399 

from  the  end  of  the  world?    It's  only  a  step  from  Lucky 
Star  here." 

"I  know  what  you  said.  There  isn't  one  word  I've  for- 
gotten. Shall  we  sit  under  that  arbour?  It's  my  favourite 
seat,  and  no  one  ever  disturbs  me." 

They  sat  down  on  a  rustic  bench  curtained  with  trails  of 
Virginia  creeper,  red  as  the  blood  of  the  dying  summer. 
Nick  kept  Timmy  on  his  knee,  stroking  the  glossy  back. 
His  hand  looked  very  strong  and  brown,  and  Angela 
longed  to  snatch  it  up  and  lay  it  against  her  cheek.  How 
she  loved  him !  How  much  more  even  than  she  had  known 
when  she  couldn't  see  his  face,  his  eyes  and  the  light  there 
was  in  his  eyes  for  her !  It  had  not  changed,  that  wonder- 
ful light,  though  his  face  was  sadder,  and,  she  thought, 
thinner. 

"Are  you  glad  to  see  me  again  —  Nick?"  she  could  not 
resist  asking. 

He  smiled  at  her  wistfully.  "Just  about  as  glad  as  a 
man  would  be  to  see  God's  sunlight  if  he'd  been  in  prison, 
or  starving  in  a  mine  that  had  fallen  in  on  him.  Only  per- 
haps a  little  gladder  than  that." 

She  answered  him  with  a  look;  and  then,  as  involun- 
tarily she  put  out  her  hand  to  stroke  Timmy,  their  fingers 
met.  He  caught  hers,  held  them  for  an  instant,  and  let 
them  go. 

"Nick,  that  day  when  you  saved  my  life  and  told  me 
you  loved  me,  did  I  make  you  realize  that  I  loved  you, 
too?"  she  asked. 

"No.  I  couldn't  think  you  meant  that.  I  thought  you 
tried  to  save  my  feelings  by  saying  you  cared;  that  you 
were  sorry  for  me,  and " 


400  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

"I  was  sorry  for  myself,  because,  you  see,  you'd  begun 
to  be  the  one  person  in  the  whole  world  who  mattered. 
Oh,  wait;  don't  speak  yet!  I  had  to  make  you  understand 
that  we  couldn't  be  anything  to  each  other,  and  it  was  so 
hard  for  me,  that  often  I've  wondered  if,  inadvertently,  I 
said  things  to  hurt  you  more  than  you  need  have  been 
hurt.  Tell  me,  truly  and  frankly,  what  did  you  believe  I 
meant  by  that  word  I  used  —  'impossible'?" 

He  hesitated,  then  answered  slowly:  "I  felt  that  I 
ought  to  have  known,  without  your  telling  me,  I  wasn't  the 
sort  of  man  for  you." 

"You  did  think  that!  Oh,  Nick,  then  I'm  glad  I  sent 
for  you  —  I  can't  help  being  glad.  If  you  loved  me,  and 
I  were  free,  nothing  in  the  world  could  come  between  us, 
and  I  should  be  the  happiest  creature  on  earth." 

"  If  you  were  free?  "  His  hand  lay  heavily  on  Timmy's 
back,  and  the  cat  resented  it  by  jumping  down.  But  both 
had  forgotten  Timmy's  existence  and  then-  late  gratitude 
to  him. 

"If  I  were  free.  You  thought  I  was  —  you  saw  me  in 
mourning.  I  never  meant  to  make  you,  or  any  one,  be- 
lieve a  lie.  All  I  thought  of  at  first  was  getting  away  from 
the  old  life.  But,  oh,  Nick,  though  I'm  not  a  widow,  I  was 
never  any  man's  wife  except  in  name.  I'm  Franklin 
Merriam's  daughter  —  you  must  have  heard  of  him.  And 
when  I  was  seventeen  I  married  Prince  Paolo  di  Sereno. 
That  very  day  I  found  out  there  was  —  some  one  who  had 
more  right  to  him  that  I  had.  She  came,  and  threatened 
to  kill  herself.  You  see,  it  was  not  me,  it  was  money  he 
cared  for.  But  he  hated  me  for  saying  I  would  be  his  wife 
only  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  That  made  him  so  angry, 


AN  END  —  AND  A  BEGINNING  401 

that  he  has  spent  his  life  since  in  taking  revenge.  When 
my  mother  died,  nearly  a  year  ago,  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
leave  him  altogether,  and  I  did  as  soon  as  I  could.  I  gave 
him  more  than  hah*  the  money,  so  he  didn't  care,  for  he'd 
grown  quite  indifferent;  and  I  took  the  name  of  'May.' 
It  is  one  of  my  names  really.  I  was  so  glad  to  be  some  one 
else  and  come  to  a  new  country  to  begin  a  new  life! 
It  never  entered  my  head  that  I  could  fall  in  love  with 
any  one  —  that  there  might  be  complications  in  my  plan. 
It  seemed  so  simple.  All  I  wanted  was  peace  and  a  quiet 
life,  with  a  few  kind  people  round  me.  Then  —  you 
came.  At  first  I  didn't  realize  what  was  happening  to  me 
—  for  it  had  never  happened  before.  But  soon  I  might  have 
seen  if  I  hadn't  closed  my  eyes  and  drifted.  I  was  happy. 
I  didn't  want  you  to  go  out  of  my  life.  Then  came  the 
Yosemite,  with  you,  and  —  I  couldn't  close  my  eyes  any 
more.  I  saw  my  own  heart.  I  thought  —  I  saw  yours. 
Now  you  understand,  Nick,  why  I  told  you  it  was  im- 
possible for  you  and  me  to  be  anything  more  to  each  other 
than  friends.  It  was  you  who  said  we  couldn't  be  friends. 
And  you  know  —  I  want  you  to  know  —  that  it's  as  hard 
for  me  as  it  can  be  for  you,  because  I  love  you." 

She  had  hurried  on  to  get  it  all  over,  not  daring  to  look 
at  him  until  just  at  the  end.  When  he  did  not  speak  she 
had  to  look  at  last,  and  see  his  bowed  head  —  the  dear 
black  head  that  she  loved. 

"Oh '."she  murmured.  "I  ought  never  to  have  gone 
with  you  to  the  Yosemite.  If  I  hadn't,  you  would  have 
forgotten  me  by  this  time  —  perhaps." 

"No,"  said  Nick.  "I'd  not  have  forgotten  you.  Not 
if  Fd  never  seen  you  again  after  that  first  day  in  New  York. 


402  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

You  see,  you  were  my  ideal.  Every  man  has  one,  I  guess. 
And  I  just  recognized  you,  the  first  minute,  in  the  hall 
of  the  hotel.  I  didn't  expect  to  know  you  —  and  yet, 
somehow,  it  was  as  if  I  couldn't  let  you  go  —  even  then. 
Have  I  got  to  let  you  go,  now,  after  what  you've  told  me? 
You're  not  the  wife  of  that  man  —  that  prince,  except  in 
law.  You  don't  love  him,  and  you  do  love  me  —  you  say 
you  do.  Why,  that  makes  you  already  more  mine  than 
his." 

"Heart  and  spirit,  I'm  all  yours,"  Angela  said.  "Oh, 
Nick,  I  don't  love  you,  I  worship  you,  you  —  man!  I 
never  thought  there  were  men  like  you.  I  don't  believe 
there  are  any  more.  Paolo  di  Sereno  is  —  a  mere  husk." 

"Divorce  him,"  Nick  implored.     "You've  got  cause." 

"He's  Italian,"  she  answered.  "So  am  I,  as  his  wife, 
in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  He  and  his  people  don't  recognize 
divorce,  even  if  I " 

"But  here "  Nick  began,  then  stopped,  and  shut 

his  lips  together.  No,  he  would  not  propose  that.  Angela 
guessed  what  he  had  wanted  to  say,  and  loved  him  better 
for  not  saying  it. 

"I  used  to  think,"  she  went  on  hastily,  "that  I  knew 
the  worst  of  being  married  to  a  man  without  love.  But 
now  I  see  I  didn't  know  half.  A  woman  can't  know  till 
she  loves  another  man.  Oh,  Nick,  I  can't  get  on  without 
you  —  not  quite  without  you.  I've  been  trying  —  and 
every  day  it  grows  harder  instead  of  easier.  Nothing 
matters  —  but  you.  I'm  not  Paolo  di  Serene's  real  wife, 
and  he  hates  me.  So  it's  not  wrong  to  love  you,  Nick,  or 
for  you  to  love  me.  Only,  we  —  we " 

"You  don't  have  to  get  on  without  me,"  said  Nick. 


AN  END  — AND  A  BEGINNING  405 

"My  angel  one,  you  needn't  be  frightened.  Wait  till  I 
tell  you.  I'll  go  away  —  this  minute  if  you  tell  me  to. 
I'll  do  whatever  you  say,  because  what  you  say  will  be 
right  for  you,  and  that's  the  important  thing.  What  I 
mean  is  —  I'm  always  there.  My  love  can't  change, 
except  to  grow  bigger  and  brighter  —  and  make  me  more 
of  a  man  —  so  you  won't  have  to  worry  about  hurting  me. 
Once  I  told  you  we  couldn't  be  friends,  but  now  I  know 
you  better,  and  what  you've  got  in  your  heart  for  me  — 
and  what  stands  betweeen  us  —  I  take  that  back.  A 
friend  can  worship  his  friend.  I  worship  you.  I  ivill  be 
your  friend,  angel,  in  the  biggest  sense  of  the  word." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Nick,"  she  cried.  "Thank  you  a 
thousand  times.  Now  I  can  live  again  —  just  thinking  — 
as  you  say  —  that  you're  there.  The  world  can't  be 
blank.  But  you  must  go.  I  —  I  don't  think  I  could  bear 
this  long,  and  keep  true  —  to  myself  —  and " 

It  was  the  same  with  Nick.  He  had  felt  that  he  could 
not  bear  this  long  and  be  true  either  to  himself  or  to  her. 
Yet  he  would  have  stayed  if  she  had  bidden  him  stay,  and 
fought  for  his  manhood  against  odds.  "Am  I  to  go  — 
now?"  he  asked. 

"Yes  —  oh,  please,  yes!"  she  begged  him,  holding  out 
her  hands.  "I  am  keyed  up  to  bear  it  now.  It  might  be 
different  later.  But  —  let  us  write  to  each  other,  Nick. 
I'll  write  little  things  every  day  —  that  I  think  and  feel. 
Then,  if  they're  worthy,  I'll  send  them  to  you  —  once  a 
month  or  so.  Will  you  do  the  same?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  you'll  take  care  of  yourself  —  for  me  —  won't 
you?" 


404  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

He  could  not  answer  in  words.  He  crushed  her  hands 
against  his  lips,  and  then,  turning  from  her  abruptly, 
walked  away,  without  looking  back. 

It  grew  cold  at  Lake  Tahoe.  When  weeks  had  passed, 
there  was  no  excuse  to  stay :  the  plans  of  the  architect  were 
finished,  and  the  new  house  begun.  Angela  went  to  Del 
Monte,  and  motored  nearly  every  day  to  the  forest  on  the 
peninsula  to  see  how  her  home  grew.  She  had  not  the  old 
interest  in  thinking  of  it,  but  she  was  no  longer  unhappy, 
for  she  had  not  lost  Nick  Hilliard  out  of  her  life.  She  could 
almost  feel  the  thrill  of  his  thoughts.  And  at  Del  Monte 
she  was  much  nearer  Lucky  Star  City  than  she  had  been 
at  Tahoe. 

Sometimes  she  wondered  if  it  would  be  very  wrong  and 
unwise  to  have  him  come  to  look  at  the  house  when  it  was 
finished.  If,  afterward,  she  could  have  the  memory  of  him 
in  the  rooms,  walking  through  them  with  her  —  just  that, 
no  more;  and  then  going  away  —  it  would  make  all  the 
difference  between  a  live  home  and  a  dead  house,  or  a 
house  that  never  had  really  "come  alive."  But  generally, 
when  she  had  dreamed  this  dream,  she  said  to  herself, 
"Better  not,"  or  "It  would  never  do." 

One  morning  in  October,  just  six  months  to  the  day  after 
her  coming  to  California,  she  read  in  a  San  Francisco  paper 
—  a  mere  tucked-away  paragraph  to  fill  up  a  corner  — 
that  the  Italian  amateur  aeronaut,  Prince  di  Sereno,  had 
arranged  a  sensational  flight  from  Naples  to  Algiers  in  his 
new  aeroplane,  an  improvement  on  a  celebrated  older 
make.  The  machine  had  just  been  named  the  Vittoria 
in  honour  of  the  brave  and  beautiful  lady  whom  he  called 


AN  END— AND  A  BEGINNING  4d5 

his  "mascot,  "and  who  had  made  so  many  daring  journeys 
through  the  air  with  him.  The  projected  dash  would  be 
the  most  ambitious  so  far  attempted,  and  it  was  exciting 
considerable  interest.  It  was  said  that  Prince  di  Sereno, 
in  gratitude  to  his  "mascot"  had  lately  made  a  will  in 
her  favour,  leaving  all  his  personal  property  to  her.  In 
event  of  death,  his  great  estates  would  go  to  a  nephew,  as 
he  was  without  a  direct  heir. 

Angela  wondered  how  much  of  her  money  was  left  for 
him  to  bequeath  to  the  celebrated  Vittoria  di  Cancellini. 
She  did  not  grudge  it  either  to  the  Prince  or  his  mascot. 
She  took  no  interest  in  the  great  flight  from  Naples 
to  Algiers,  but  she  felt  certain  that  Paolo  would  suc- 
ceed in  accomplishing  it.  He  had  always  succeeded 
in  everything  he  had  ever  wanted  to  do,  except  perhaps 
in  winning  her  love.  But  then  he  had  not  really  wanted 
that. 

The  day  came  for  the  flight,  but  she  had  forgotten  it. 
She  went  in  the  morning  to  the  new  house,  picnicked  there, 
and  returned  to  Del  Monte  only  at  dusk.  She  was  think- 
ing on  the  way  back  of  several  things  she  would  put  in  the 
diary  she  kept  for  Nick,  sending  it  off  to  him  in  a  fat  en- 
velope the  first  of  each  month.  One  bit  of  news  she  wanted 
to  tell  him  was  that  his  favourite  flowers  —  pansies  —  were 
to  be  planted  in  a  great  bed  under  the  windows  of  her  own 
room.  "Then,  whenever  I  look  out,  I  shall  think  of  you. 
Not  that  I  shouldn't  do  that  anyway."  She  wondered  if 
she  had  better  add  that  last  sentence,  or  if  it  would  be 
better  to  leave  it  out. 

"There's  a  telegram  for  you,  Mrs.  May;  just  this  minute 
come,"  said  the  hotel  clerk. 


406  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

Angela  took  it,  her  heart  beating  fast,  for  whenever  a 
telegram  arrived  —  which  happened  seldom  —  she  always 
wondered  if  it  would  tell  her  that,  for  some  good  reason  or 
other,  Nick  was  coming.  But  he  never  had  come,  and  had 
never  telegraphed. 

She  opened  the  envelope,  and  glanced  first  at  the  signa- 
ture: "James  Morehouse."  Why  should  he  have  wired? 
Then  she  read: 

"In  flight  to-day  aeroplane  fell  into  Sea  off  Sardinia. 
Aeronaut  killed.  Companion  injured.  Forgive  abrupt- 
ness. Wished  get  ahead  of  newspapers." 

For  a  moment  she  felt  absolutely  unconcerned,  as  if 
reading  of  the  death  of  some  stranger  aeronaut,  of  Japan 
or  South  America.  Then: 

"I  hope  you've  not  got  bad  news,  Mrs.  May?"  a  con- 
cerned voice  was  saying.  She  was  vaguely  conscious  that 
the  hotel  clerk  who  had  given  her  the  telegram  was  hover- 
ing distressfully  before  her.  She  had  been  standing  up 
when  she  began  to  read  the  message.  Now  she  was 
sitting  down.  But  her  voice  sounded  quite  calm 
and  natural  in  her  own  ears  as  she  answered,  "No, 
thank  you  very  much.  A  surprise  —  that  is  all.  A 
great  surprise." 

"You  are  all  right?" 

"Oh,  quite  — quite!" 

"Nothing  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Nothing,  thanks.     I  will  go  up  to  my  room." 

Her  first  thought,  when  she  could  think  connectedly,  was 
to  send  her  unfinished  letter  to  Nick,  with  a  few  hastily 


AN  END  — AND  A  BEGINNING  407 

scribbled  words  at  the  end  —  not  about  the  pansies.  And 
perhaps  to  enclose  the  telegram. 

But  she  did  neither.  Two  days  passed  before  she  sent 
the  long  diary  letter,  and  when  she  did  send  it,  nothing  more 
had  been  written.  She  waited.  She  did  not  know  what 
would  happen.  She  did  not  even  read  the  newspapers, 
though  she  knew  there  must  be  paragraphs,  not  tucked 
into  corners,  for  this  was,  in  a  way,  world's  news. 
There  had  been  "considerable  interest." 

On  the  third  day  she  was  given  another  telegram.  This 
time  the  name  at  the  bottom  was  the  only  name  that  could 
make  her  heart  beat: 

"  I  have  seen  what  has  happened.  When  will  you  let  me 
come?  " 

He  did  not  say  "Will  you  let  me  come?  "but  "When.'* 
She  thought  if  she  did  not  answer  soon  he  would  come  all 
the  same.  It  seemed  wonderful,  unbelievable,  that  now 
there  was  no  wrong,  no  cruelty,  no  terrible  unwisdom  in 
having  him  near  her.  But  there  was  none.  Even  she  could 
see  none.  So  she  telegraphed,  not  the  immediate  summons 
he  hoped  for  and  she  was  tempted  to  send  him,  but  the 
message  of  her  second  thought.  "Come;  not  yet,  but  on 
the  day  I  have  a  home  of  my  own  to  welcome  you 
in.  Till  then,  let  me  be  alone  with  my  thoughts  of 

you." 

The  architect  thought  Mrs.  May's  impatience  to  get  into 
her  new  house,  and  to  have  even  the  garden  finished,  a 
charming  whim.  As  she  seemed  not  to  care  how  much 


408  THE  PORT  OF  ADVENTURE 

money  was  spent,  relays  of  men,  many  men,  were  put  on  to 
work  night  as  well  as  day.  Angela  chose  furniture  in  San 
Francisco,  all  made  of  beautiful  California  woods.  "We 
shall  have  two  homes,"  she  thought.  It  was  heavenly  to 
say  "we"  again. 

"You  can  have  Christmas  dinner  at  your  own  place," 
said  the  architect. 

"Oh,  but  I  want  Christmas  Eve  there!"  Angela  ex- 
claimed. "Of  all  things,  I  want  Christmas  Eve!" 

"Very  well,  I  promise  you  Christmas  Eve,"  the  architect 
answered,  almost  as  if  she  were  a  child. 

But  she  was  not  a  child.  She  was  a  woman  loving  and 
longing.  Always  she  had  wanted  to  have  a  happy  Christ- 
mas Eve,  and  she  had  never  had  one  since  Franklin  Mer- 
riam  died. 

At  last  she  wrote:  "I  am  going  to  have  a  house-warming 
at  Christmas- time :  only  five  guests,  and  you,  Nick,  are  the 
principal  one.  The  others,  are  Mrs.  Harland,  Mr.  Falconer 
and  his  bride,  and  little  Miss  Wilkins,  your  school-teacher 
at  Lucky  Star.  Some  day  I'll  tell  you  how  we  renewed  our 
acquaintance." 

Nick  did  not  care  to  know.  He  wanted  to  be  the  only 
guest:  yet  somehow  he  felt  that  she  did  not  mean  to  dis- 
appoint him.  She  meant  him  to  be  happy  that  day  —  the 
day  of  Christmas  Eve,  when  she  asked  him  to  come  to  her 
—  at  last.  But  how  could  she  contrive,  with  other  guests, 
not  to  let  it  be  a  disappointment? 

She  contrived  it  by  letting  him  arrive  first  at  the  beauti- 
ful new  house,  which  was  as  like  as  possible,  in  minia- 
ture, to  the  Mission  Inn  where  they  had  once  "made- 
,  believe." 


AN  END  — AND  A  BEGINNING          409 

They  did  not  speak  when  they  met.  Their  hearts  were 
too  full.  There  was  no  question,  "Will  you  marry  me?" 
No  answer,  "  Yes,  I  am  free  to  love  you  now."  But  when 
the  others  came,  Angela  said: 

"  Congratulate  me.  I  am  engaged  to  the  best  and  dear- 
est man  on  earth,  and  I  —  am  the  happiest  woman." 


THE   END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE    PRESS,  GARDEN   CITY,  N.  Y. 


University  of  California 

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